With Or Without You
by believeinthegods
Summary: Oceans. Loneliness. Memories. Summertime. Fairy-tales. Memories. Cameras. Music. Confessions. Missed calls. Christmas. Sugar. Tears. Sales. Blackmail. Blossom. Mistakes. Numbers. Conversations. Shopping. Parenthood. Percabeth.
1. When We Laughed

**This is the first of a collection of Percabeth oneshots of perfect moments and beautiful evenings, spent in the sun or under the stars, with Percy and Annabeth - just how we like them. **

**_Song choice: 'Come Away With Me' by Norah Jones_**

* * *

When We Laughed

Each golden curl shone almost like the sun itself, woven amongst the mass of honey blonde hair that rolled down her shoulders with careless ease. Her hair fell around her face with such effortless grace that it could take your breath away. Each ripple of light that bounced from curl to curl –

"Stupid darn hair!" Annabeth cursed, flicking loose strands of hair from hands to hand across her parting. After messing with it for a few moments, she looked at me. I'd been watching her intently and shook my head with a laugh.

We were sat, laid out across from each other on the beach, a little way out from Camp at sunset: taking full advantage of the absence of the after-dinner campfire. We'd agreed to practice our defence for Chiron, but now our weaponry lay forgotten on the sand as we'd begun to talk. It always amazed me how easy Annabeth was to talk to, to laugh with...all I'd have to do is meet her eye minutes after a joke and we'd soon have tears rolling down our faces and be shaking with laughter.

"What?" Annabeth asked, offended. I continued to laugh until I felt a blow to the head. Rubbing it as it throbbed, I tried to stop at Annabeth's outraged look.

"Why, Perseus Jackson, are you laughing at me?"

I met her eye and shrugged, wondering why I had got myself into this situation.

"Look," I said, as Annabeth raised an eyebrow, "It's just…well, you never really come across as…. you don't seem like, y'know, the kind of girl who's…like…into her looks." _Please don't be offended, please don't be offended…._

I thought I'd done okay, but Annabeth, who seemed to be finding the subject both mildly amusing yet rather insulting, narrowed her eyes.

"So, what are you implying?" Annabeth asked, propping herself up on her elbows, "You think I'm not pretty, then, Percy?"

Ah, crap. The dreaded question.

"No." I answered immediately. Annabeth smirked to herself, so I got the feeling I'd answered correctly. I watched her carefully, waiting for her next attack. She turned her gaze on me once more.

"So, Percy…." Annabeth said, resting her head on one hand, "If you're the expert on me and my alleged 'prettiness' – "

"Uh, yeah – about that; I'm really not the expert, here –"

A mischievous glint lit in her grey, grey eyes, "So when have I looked prettiest, Percy?" she asked, almost blushing in spite of herself, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers.

I frowned at the question, and began to think. To my recollection, Annabeth had never looked un-pretty – it wasn't an obvious beauty, like the Aphrodite cabin, but a simple, subtle beauty that could still take your breath away in one fell swoop. Believe me – I know.

"Seriously, answer slower;" Annabeth said sarcastically, "It does _loads_ for my self esteem."

I rolled my eyes and decided on an answer. "Okay, okay. I'd have to say….last winter. On Olympus."

In my mind, I saw the Olympian party and Annabeth's hand gently touching my hair where I bore the scar of bearing the sky; taking her hand and dancing with her until the early morning; watching her smile and laugh as if she had no care in the world but for that evening.

Annabeth looked a little surprised and she sat up a little straighter. "Really?"

"Really, really."

She bit her lip, looking thoughtful and intrigued. I could tell she hadn't expected that at all. She had a way of looking at herself and thinking negatively. If I could have one wish, it would be for Annabeth to see how amazing she truly was. Or perhaps, I thought, not. I guess I couldn't bear it if she ever changed, even if it were just a little.

Her eyes met mine once more. I tried not to lose myself in them, but already my heart had begun to ache. "But I looked like a wreck last winter," she said, brushing away her hair as her eyes wandered out to sea. "Why d'you say that?"

I smiled, more to myself than anyone else. "Because you were happy," I said simply.

A flicker of weakness – or maybe sadness – passed over her face and she turned her gaze once more to the ocean, blushing fiercely. She still looked stunning with her face glowing, flattered yet almost shy – apart from she was Annabeth, and she was never shy. She couldn't do shy even if she wanted to.

"I've had little to be happy about for so long," Annabeth murmured. I felt a wave of sadness come over me, and without thinking I reached out and gently ran my hand down her cheek.

She looked up, but she didn't look angry, or even a little surprised.

"It amazes me how you always manage to see the best in every… situation, Percy," she said, and as my hand slipped away from her cheek she caught it and held it. Her eyes met mine briefly and she smiled, my whole heart warming as she did so.

Annabeth sighed, but the smile still played on her lips. "What would I do without you, Percy Jackson?" she whispered. I smiled and was about to reply when Annabeth leant over and kissed me on the cheek.

I didn't even have to start my sentence. My skin burnt where her lips had gently touched it.

Annabeth pulled away and stood up, her fingers slipping away mine. I looked up at her, being completely inadequate and simply looked at her; her golden hair rippling in the wind; the sun reflecting in her stormy grey eyes, and her expression wise, calm and beautiful. Her gaze dropped down to me and she held out her hand with a smile.

"Come on, Seaweed Brain," she said, sounding like the Annabeth I'd known for an eternity.

A smile crept onto my face and I stood; and we walked back to camp together, laughing and talking, as ever. And it was there that I promised myself to never forget that night when we laughed and we walked together - with her kiss upon my cheek, with her hand in mine... and with our backs to the sunset.


	2. Stood Alone

**This oneshot is sad - and it's about Percy realising what being a hero means, and that a hero's heart can never be set free. Love is a beautiful thing - but it can cause more pain than it heals sometimes... **

**_Song Choice: 'Evenstar' from Lord of the Rings (The Two Towers)_**

* * *

Stood Alone

He shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. The chill was biting at the bare skin on his arms, but he dismissed it. His mind was wandering away from his body, so what did it matter?

It wasn't his fault. Any of this.

It wasn't his fault that she was all he thought about.

It wasn't his fault that his eyes would dart towards any golden glints, like her hair, as he walked down the street. It wasn't his fault that he saw her eyes reflected in the rippling storm clouds. It wasn't his fault…

But what if it _was_?

He ground his thumb angrily along the floor and looked out to the skyline of Manhattan. The roof was the place he came to think about her. Nobody else. Just her.

Sometimes it would just be the things she'd said. Sometimes it was her laugh. Sometime it was simply her face; smiling, thinking, crying, shouting, laughing. He'd seen it all.

But now, all he saw was the back of her head as she walked down Half Blood Hill, away from him. She hadn't looked back. She'd kept walking, like he wasn't there. She couldn't even allow him a glimpse of her face to last him the months that would follow. She had left him, stood alone.

And what was breaking his heart more than anything was the ease with which she _had _walked away, and didn't regret for a moment. And now, this cold evening, with the sound of taxis and people living their very _normal _lives, he wondered (and he hated himself for wondering) if that was, ultimately, what she would do. That would be the choice she would make.

To leave him, stood alone, as she walked to another destiny without a moment of regret.

Would she?

He'd always thought he'd known her. He knew her strengths and weaknesses like the back of his scarred hands; he could tell what she was thinking in one glance at her beautiful face. But something had changed this summer. He'd seen a side of her that he'd always know was there, but…

What it came down to, he realised, was choices. Like what Hera and Hephaestus and Calypso had said. She, Annabeth, would have to choose between him and _them_.

The enemy. And himself.

Unless he _was _the enemy.

_Oh, don't start that again_, he told himself, turning his palm over. His scar was clearly visible; it didn't hurt him anymore, but it hurt him to remember. And it hurt him to remember what Luke had done to Annabeth, to Thalia – to Camp, the one place in the world where he felt like himself, for once. Where he was accepted.

He just couldn't bring himself to understand how she could ever love Luke. Did he, Percy, not count for something, too? When had he turned his back on her? When had he betrayed her? He'd throw himself under a train without a moment's thought for her. Luke threw her under the sky and made her bear the weight of the heavens.

And yet Luke was the one that made her cheeks burn that fiery red. Luke was the one who she had shed so many tears over. Luke was the one she had _loved_.

He shut his eyes, his tense body relaxing slowly.

Could she ever love_ him? _

He thought of her now; everything about her – everything so very _Annabeth_ and he felt his heart start to crumble apart. She could never love him. He would never allow her to love him. Not while this prophecy was his, and not while his future held so much death.

It dawned on him, then. What his father had said to him all that time ago, about how siring him was an unforgivable mistake. Was this had what he had meant - this heroes half-life of a guarded heart and pain? The fact that the one person he loved more than anyone else in the world could never be his?

He would love her, always. She was his heart's, and she always would be. But he could live with the pain – because he had to. Because he was the hero and that was his burden to bear. He could never break her heart, or leave her here alone. He would never be able to tear himself away from her if she loved him, and then she would have to be left with an empty space beside her…

It was then that he promised himself that crushing truth. As much as he loved her, he would not let her love him. For her own sake's. She didn't deserve the pain it would cause her.

_Annabeth Chase could never love Percy Jackson._

_Because Percy Jackson would never allow it. _


	3. Remember

**What if Annabeth and Percy had met, years ago, one summers day? It all began with ice cream, Power Rangers and freshly mown grass (as all adorable childhood memories should)...**

**_Song Choice: 'The Call' by Regina Spektor_**

* * *

Remember

"Hurry up on that ice cream, already." Thalia hissed. I stuck out my bottom lip. Luke rolled his eyes towards Thalia and made a spiral with his finger around her ear. I giggled, taking a few more licks of my ice cream.

"I hate Central Park," Thalia grumbled, scuffing her boot against the floor moodily, "Too much open space. Too many people. We're easy targets. _Anyone _here could be a monster." She eyed the dishevelled man sat on the bench opposite distastefully and he shuffled away.

Luke sighed. "Lighten up, Thal. We're on vacation. We're supposed to be happy."

"I'm happy!" I assured him, showing him my ice cream. "It's chocolate chip."

Thalia stuck out her jaw, but she kept quiet. We stood in silence next to a lamppost whilst the world passed us by. People were doing normal stuff; walking dogs, riding bikes, rollerblading, but our eyes darted to any movement, just in case. I occupied myself by eating more of my ice cream, enjoying how it felt when I stuck my tongue right into the choc chip centre. It went all over my chin.

"I'm going to scout," Thalia announced, wiping her hand on her jacket boredly. "Luke, watch the monkey. Be ready to go in about fifteen minutes, okay?"

Luke saluted. "Yes, oh wise one." I grinned and he winked back at me. Thalia walked off into the hordes of people coming up the intertwining pathways. I finished off the last of my ice cream and rocked backwards and forwards on my heels.

"Go on," Luke said, crouching down, "Go find a friend for a few minutes. The gods know we could do with something remotely exciting happening."

I nodded obediently, and began to walk away, looking out for potential friends. A few girls were plaiting each others hair and dressing little Barbie dolls. I shuddered. A few boys were pretending to fight with lightsabers on the grass, but they were younger than me. There was another girl reading a book, and I was about to approach her when someone caught my eye.

There was a boy of about my age sat leant against a tree. He looked Greek or Spanish or something similar. He had black unruly hair and deep green eyes. He was slim and around my height. In his hands were two action figures; one was a Power Ranger, all red and plastic and modern. The other was a medieval warrior with a word and shield, and he looked a little more worn than the other. The boy was pretending they were fighting in a duel, and he made little sound effects as he clashed them together. I watched, entranced.

"What's your name?" I asked. He jumped and looked up, frowning a little.

"Percy."

I took a step towards him. "My name's Annabeth. I'm seven years and one month and eight days old. How old are you?"

The boy blinked. "Six."

I nodded and smiled, dropping down to my knees beside him. He watched me warily, like I was about to steal his toys.

"Can I play?"

He nodded, and then held out both of his hands. "Which one do you want?" he asked, looking up expectantly. His green eyes met mine and I blushed.

I shrugged, my dirty cardigan falling off my shoulders a little. "Don't mind. Which one's your favourite?"

Percy thought about it, looking from one toy to the next before deciding.

"This one." He held up the knight. "I like his sword."

I nodded, and my eyes fell on the Power Ranger. "Can I be him, then?" I asked.

He nodded again and passed the toy to me. I held it gingerly, not wanting to damage him. I didn't have any toys of my own – I'd left them all behind. The figure had a long laser beam which he held in one hand, and wore armour and a shiny helmet. I ran my fingers down him gingerly.

The boy watched me. "Don't you know how to play?"

I shook my head. "I don't have any toys."

"You _don't have any toys_?"

"No," I said glumly. I twisted the toy in my fingers and made him charge towards Percy's toy. Percy made his toy's sword parry it and push him back. I pretended my guy screamed and made him fall down, but soon jump back up again. I made little shooting noises at Percy's toy's head (which was odd, seen as the Power Ranger had no gun) and he made the knight dodge the invisible bullets about the place.

I heard a woman laugh on a nearby bench. I saw Percy turn and look longingly at her, and then turn back, looking reproachful.

"Who's that?" I asked. Percy kept his eyes on his lap.

"My mom." He mumbled. I peered at the woman again. She was pretty, with wavy brown hair and gentle eyes. She was sat on a bench with a balding guy with a t-shirt and sweats and a thick jawline.

I turned back to Percy. "Who's she with?"

Percy blushed, his eyes turning down to the ground. He mumbled something inaudible.

"What?"

He tried to look up, decided it was too hard and looked back down at the grass again. "Her boyfriend." He said distractedly.

"Oh."

Percy's fist had clenched around his toy. I went quiet, not really knowing what to say. I wanted to make him feel better, but I didn't know how. When Thalia wanted to make you feel better, she'd tell some sexist joke. Luke would wink or roll his eyes at me, but I couldn't wink. I ended up looking like my step mom when her contact lenses got lost somewhere on her eye ball.

"Annabeth!" I heard Thalia call from behind me. "Come on! We're leaving!"

Percy looked up. His eyes widened as he saw Thalia – but then again, most peoples' did. I heard Luke calling my name too. I reluctantly set the toy down on the floor.

"Who are they?" Percy asked, peering at them.

"My friends. Thalia and Luke."

I saw him mouth the word 'friends' under his breath. I watched him a little longer, then smiled and stood up, the Power Ranger at my feet. Percy paused and stood too, picking up the Power Ranger as he did so. He held it out to me.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What are you doing?"

"Giving it to you," Percy said simply. "Everyone should have a toy."

I blinked. "But that's yours."

He raised it higher. "Now it's yours."

He placed it in my hand. I looked in wonder from the figurine to Percy, and then smiled at him. For the first time, he smiled back. I leaned forwards and hugged him tightly. I let go, turned and skipped off towards Thalia and Luke, who were stood by a gate.

"Who was that?" Thalia asked, peering at Percy. Her eyes were narrowed like they did when we saw a monster.

"Just a friend," I shrugged, and I showed her the Power Ranger. "He gave me this."

Thalia observed it cynically. "Yeah. Uh, cool. Now come on, monster – we're leaving." She turned and walked through the gate.

Luke winked at me again, and bent down to take a look at the figurine. I showed him its little weapon and shiny plastic armour.

"It's a nice little toy you've got there, kiddo," he smiled. I looked back at Percy, who was looking at his mom. He turned back and saw me, and his eyes met mine. He slowly raised his hand and waved hesitantly. I waved back and followed Luke out of the park, looking back at Percy until he was no longer in view.

"I liked him," I said bluntly, taking Luke's hand. "He knew how to fight with the sword."

Luke grinned. "Well, let's hope he doesn't ever have to use a real one," he said as we crossed the street, "I envy him. A lifetime without monsters chasing him…"

"Mmm." I said in agreement, and I looked up at Luke anxiously. "I hope I see him again."

"I'm sure you will, kiddo," he said simply. "I'm sure you will."


	4. Of Summers Past

**When our mind wanders, all sorts of magic can sweep you off your feet and into another world where the sun shines down on a motorbike with an engine's roar like the tide itself... **

**_Song Choice: 'Boys Of Summer' by Don Henley_**

**_- or -_**

**_Song Choice: 'Harbour' by Vienna Teng_**

* * *

Of Summers Past

_She was walking down a street in sunny surburbia. She knew her hair was pulled back in two plaits and she was wearing a dress. It was almost Judy Garland, without the dog and the magic shoes. Too bad she was wearing sneakers._

_The road she walked down was an echo of the 1950's, she was sure. Children rode down the street on bicycles – an ice cream van was parked down the other end. The afternoon sun shone down on the street, where the houses' paint was fading and windows open with curtains abandoned. Paddling pools and children's laughter. Mothers with scarves in their hair and aprons. Fathers in business suits sat out in the garden with lemonade. Elvis Presley was warbling out of the boom box on someone's window ledge._

_Annabeth kept walking down the road, children whizzing past. A few girls with plaits and rolled down socks were skipping double-dutch and playing hopscotch on the road whilst young boys climbed trees and ran trains along the sidewalk. Mothers were gossiping to each other over picket fences, whilst men compared tools and enjoyed a drink on the patio. Everywhere, people were happy and carefree, but she was the only one who wasn't smiling. She kept walking on._

_A little basket hung at her arm, and as she began to run it swung about. She could see a silhouette up above and she hurried towards it, a smile stretching across her face until – finally – she reached him._

_The boy was dressed like Danny Zuko himself – a black leather jacket, white shirt, black boots and jeans. His sea green eyes, the eyes that made the neighbourhood girls swoon, shone in the summer sun. He even had a quiff – albeit a slightly windswept one. He grinned and her heart began to spin._

_His calloused hands clutched the handles of his motorbike. It was a gleaming Harley Davidson; a huge bike with an engine roar like the tide itself. Annabeth's eyes glazed over it in awe. She met the boy's eyes, trying not to lose herself in the vivid colour…_

_"You want a ride?" Percy asked, drumming one hand across the seat behind him. _

_"Hades, yeah!" Annabeth said, then blushed, "I mean, er – yes, please."_

_The boy grinned casually. "Hop on."_

_She approached the motor back and sat side-saddle on the back. She opened her bag and pulled out her sunglasses and head scarf. She tied the scarf around her had and let her hair fall loose. She pushed the sunglasses back onto her face, wrapped her arms around Percy's waist and whispered. "Ready?"_

_"Born ready," he said, a mischievous glint lighting in his eyes. He clicked the brake and put his foot down._

_The world began to blur past as they sped down the summer street. Annabeth's hair rippled in the wind and she held Percy tighter as the streets spiralled away from them. All her anxiety and concern was swept away in the wind, and she relaxed herself, letting the rush of air caress her face and the sun beam down at her._

_The children in the streets were smiling and waving at them. They began to chase the motorbike down the street until it outpaced them, and then they waved and called after them. They passed a diner, and Annabeth saw Thalia in a skirt and floral top, her hair curly as she waved at them. Nico di Angelo was there, ordering a soda, and he called after them with a smile on his face._

_They passed Rachel, and Annabeth couldn't help but smirk. She was dressed up fancily, her face plastered with make-up, and she burst into tears when she saw Annabeth and Percy together on the bike. Annabeth grinned to herself as they left her behind. feeling rather self-induglent._

_They saw Percy's mom and boyfriend, out on their lawn on the sun-beds. Grover and Tyson were playing baseball with the local children; the battered ball flying high in the sky until Annabeth caught it to a round of applause, and threw it back as they speeded away._

_"Whose is the bike?" Annabeth asked. Percy grinned but didn't answer. She poked him hard in the stomach._

_"Hey!" He protested, "It's Paul's, okay?"_

_She laughed, and startled herself in doing so. She was just getting used to the rush of the accelerator, the hum of the engine, the click of the brake when her eyes glimpsed her street name up ahead. In no time at all, they had pulled up outside her house, where her step mom and brothers were making cakes in the kitchen._

_Annabeth sighed and hopped off, undoing her scarf and slipping the glasses in her bag. She stood, looking at Percy, not knowing what to say._

_"So." He said, squinting up at her in the sunlight._

_"Yeah." She said reluctantly, "I'll… see you around. Thanks for the ride." _

_Her heart ached in regret. Percy lived in the next neighbourhood – he was blocks away to walk, and her dad was using the car out in the city. Chances to see each other only came every month or so. He nodded, looking a little pensive, and was about to put his foot down and speed off into the distance when –_

_"Wait." Annabeth said, and she stepped towards him, holding out her scarf. He looked a little puzzled, looking from the scarf, to her._

_"Keep it," Annabeth said, pressing it into his palm. "Until next time."_

_Percy's face softened and he grinned at her. She stepped forward once more and placed her hand on his jacket arm. He glanced quickly at the hand, and then his eyes searched her face. She leaned down towards him –_

"Annabeth? Annabeth Chase?!"

Annabeth opened her eyes. Her eyelids felt like lead, and her whole body was stiff. She blinked, and the classroom came into focus. Mathematical formulae adorning the walls. The interactive whiteboard on screensaver at the front. Girls in a crisp uniform all staring at her. She felt her face heating as she met Miss Sharpe's gaze burn down upon her.

"This," Miss Sharpe began, her voice sounding angry, "is a highly important lesson, Miss Chase, and you would do well to listen, and not fall asleep in my class!"

A few of the girls giggled. Annabeth was sure her face was a luminous red. The bell rang somewhere above them and she sighed as everyone began to stand and pack away. She moved slowly and drowsily, placing her belongings one by one into the bag. She moved with so little haste that by the time she had finished everyone save Miss Sharpe had gone.

Miss Sharpe sighed. "Annabeth," she began. Annabeth looked at her, feeling awkward. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. And it had been a very good dream…

"You're a very diligent girl, Annabeth," Miss Sharpe's voice brought her down to earth, "But sometimes I don't know where your head is. You're obviously very intelligent, but application of your intelligence is essential. I would hate to think you will waste your gift daydreaming."

"No, Miss Sharpe. I won't. I'm very sorry." _I'm very sorry you woke me up, you bad tempered old - _

Miss Sharpe pursed her lips, nodded curtly and left the room. Annabeth sighed, turning out to face the window – and her heart skipped a beat.

A motorbike was speeding away from her, out into the sunset. She tried to make out who rode it, but it moved quickly and further away. It was almost as if she could see those sea green eyes blinking out at her in the sky as the motorbike rode on. She watched it go in wonder – the roar of the engine like the tide itself – and felt her spirits begin to lift. Moments like this – just little moments you couldn't always believe were real – were the ones that made it all that little bit more worthwhile.

And most of all, moments like this (when all she could hear was an echo of a dream and the tide rushing down on the sand, miles away) were those precious moments she would treasure forever. The moments that made her smile.


	5. Fairytale

**This is set nearing the end of the Titan's Curse, when Percy, Annabeth and Thalia were flying up to Olympus - Annabeth is reflecting on how her life is changing...a very important part of her life in particular...**

**_Song Choice: 'She Will Be Loved' by Maroon 5_**

* * *

Fairytale

Flying with the night wind rippling through your hair is a truly peculiar feeling. Knowing that there are thousands of mortals who dream of being able to do so, yet you are the one of the lucky few who will ever experience the feeling is even more peculiar. Flying to Mount Olympus, home of twelve immortals who are about to decide whether to kill two of your best friends and make a decision that will either make-or-break life as we know it – now that's the most peculiar of all.

Thalia's head rested on her pegasus and her eyes were shut tight. She looked almost innocent as she lay asleep in the night sky._ Almost _innocent. After all, leopards don't change their spots.

She turned my head to look at him. This was one of those moments that you would rarely find Percy Jackson caught in – his face thoughtful yet unmoving, his green eyes fixed on something ahead. His calloused hands didn't even need to hold onto the reins of the pegasus. He looked so at ease; it was almost a different person.

She wondered what was running through his mind. Although many a comment was directed towards Percy's brain capacity, she knew he wasn't stupid. He was a thoughtful and curious person – engaging, unpredictable. She would have thought he would be uncomfortable, flying so high in the sky, and yet he looked so relaxed and calm.

He never ceased to amaze her. He was...different that way.

It struck her, then, how very different he was from everything conventional – everything predictable. She remembered those years she had spent at Camp; waiting and praying for a great hero to come so her life could begin. All the others can been – typical? Was that the word? Perhaps quintessential would be more appropriate. Yes, they were all well and good, but they weren't the one she had been waiting for. She knew that much.

And then _he _had come – battling a Minotaur and a Fury in the process – and everything had changed. The world turned upside down. He aggravated her. He irritated her. He made her want to throw something – preferably at him. And yet, he, the one who was so maddeningly unorthodox, turned out to be the one who changed her life!

Irony, for a daughter of Athena, was more infuriating than it was humorous.

She ran her hands through her pegasus' mane slowly, breathing deeply. She wished, briefly, that her brain would cease to stop thinking just for a moment, so she could just relax and not have to deal with…everything. All her life; so complicated, so rushed, so pressured…

Everything, everything, _everything _had changed. She'd grown so quickly in such a short space of time. She had been a little girl only weeks before. Granted, a little girl who'd seen the worst of the world - but somehow, that had been okay, because she could turn a blind eye to that harsh reality. She had trusted, she had loved, she understood. She felt she knew it all.

And now… Now she knew so much _less. _

Annabeth sighed, wanting to scream and cry and shout as the memories of the last few days flickered through her fading mind. She remembered being so frustrated at _herself_ at first. She became convinced that she was weak, because she felt pain and she had cried. She hadn't been able to fight back. She couldn't conquer _anything_ without anyone else's help.

The sky… She touched her hair tentatively, as if it could trigger that force above her to fall upon her shoulders once more. She shook even now as she remembered the feeling… crushing, burning, overpowering – like everything was going to be taken from her, one by one as her body took the weight of the sky…

She couldn't remember being freed. Even now, the memory was fading of the sky crashing down upon her, but the memory of her release was non-existent. She didn't know how she came to be freed, but when she had awoken she there was no sky. She had not felt relieved, she recalled, but rather appalled…at herself. She'd let someone else save her. She'd been the person she hated – the person who couldn't fend for themselves.

Over the next few days, she remembered feeling so changed she had felt barely the same person – she was someone else in all but name. She had been saved by another – Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt.

She was indebted to Artemis, and the gratitude she felt towards her was immense, but she didn't like having to be rescued by someone else. It felt cowardly. It felt weak.

It felt like it was the only way she would ever walk out of the nightmare – to be saved by another. For a hero to come along, beat the enemy and whisk her away to the days she remembered. It sounded so like a fairytale. Annabeth Chase, fairytale princess.

She had hated that story when she was younger.

Now?

Well, it was growing on her. She almost smiled to herself, but held it back and glanced sideways at Percy.

Her hero. The one who had saved her.

Not only had she changed, but something had changed in the way she looked at him. She remembered how she had chosen him, of all the things in the world, as her one source of light to keep her going. _He _had kept her from giving in. It was _his _face she had engraved in her memory to look back upon and remember that her life was still out there, somewhere.

For the gods' sake, it was _him. _Everything was _him_. The one who let her life begin two years ago. The one who saved her, just hours ago. The one who…

_The one who didn't betray her._

She shut her eyes and pretended she didn't think about that, brushing the thought away quickly and – somewhat – painlessly.

Everything was changing. She'd known war changed stuff, but still… she didn't expect it on this scale. He was her best friend, for crying out loud! He was _Percy_. Her irritating, courageous, nauseating, hilarious, punchable Percy. Apart from the fact that he wasn't _hers_. He was just a friend.

Lying to yourself, she realised, never works.

She glanced quickly over at him, and blinked, letting herself rest in the moment. For now, at least, he was just Percy. He might be just Percy for only a little longer – a month, a week, a day, _an hour­ – _but he was Percy. Some things hadn't changed. He was still the same person. He was still there for her.

He turned and gave her a small smile that made her blush and send a shiver right through her. Their eyes met and it dawned on Annabeth Chase that, however things may change between them, however war might turn their words upside down, however it may end, some changes weren't always for the worst.

_In fact, it could change into something pretty darn wonderful. _


	6. Happiness

**This was written for a competition, for which the oneshot had to be entitled happiness - and I've just been informed by Phyco Girl that this story came joint first, so thank you to her - and thanks for reading!**

**This is just Percy - a Percy lost in thoughts on a summers day, where metaphorical rain clouds seem to blight every chance of a smile here or there...**

**_Song Choice: 'You Are My Sunshine' by Sara Hickman_**

* * *

Happiness

"_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_You make me happy when skies are grey..."_

Percy winces at the song and turns the music down, sighing wearily. Something about the blatant cheeriness of the song is almost painful to him. Stupid crappy optimism, he thinks to himself, as he shields his eyes from the sun's glare and squints.

He is exhausted, and he knows it. His body aches (_thanks, Clarisse_) and Riptide lies across the sand, equally as tired and as desperate for a moment of tranquillity, instead of war and sweat and bitterness. He sometimes wonders how on earth he can find cheer in such brutal warfare, but somehow, he manages it. Just not today. Today, he is cynical and gloomy.

He comes to the beach in the late afternoon when he has the time, and for no other reason. The peaceful moments come only when called, and he does not make time for them. After all, they are not his to make time for. They are just glimmers of peace that sometimes take over him and guide him here – to stand, with the sun in his eyes, on Long Island Sound.

Why does he bring a radio to the ocean? He has no real passion for music, and most of the songs the radio plays makes him think of his mom and how isn't there, with her, in their little New York apartment, eating all things blue as tears of laughter rolled down their faces.

_First metaphorical rain cloud over the head._

No, the radio is there as a reminder of what little normality he has in his life. The days when he feels like a normal teenager, where he forgets he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and worries about missing this week's episode of _Heroes_ and catching the early bus in the morning, instead of worrying about surviving another summer and battling mythological monsters all the live long day.

_Second metaphorical rain cloud over the head._

Sometimes he comes here and tries to talk to his father. He doesn't see him often – a occupational hazard, he supposes, of being the son of the Sea God. Does that hurt him, sometimes, to know that his father is too preoccupied to talk to his son?

_Metaphorical rain now falling rapidly._

He sighs and sits down in the sand, the sea lapping at his bare feet like a familiar friend. He is tired, he realises, and his mind is now anguished and distracted. The metaphorical rain cloud is ruining his summers' afternoon.

He turns his head and his green eyes look out into the distance; to the cabins, to the amphitheatre, and to his home. Demigods shout and laugh amongst each other – _they_ are carefree and happy to be out in the summer sun. Their lives are as hard and as ugly as his, but they are not sat, letting metaphorical rain weigh them down.

He could just as easily be with them. And yet he has chosen to come out here and sit alone, when he has friends calling out to him, all for the sake of a moment to feel sorry for himself.

_Self pitying metaphorical rain clouds_. Those are the worst kind.

He pauses and half-smiles, letting his hand fall from his face and brings the radio to his side. He places his hand on the volume and turns the song up, his eyes never leaving the gatherings of demigods out in the Long Island sun. And as he does so, one by one, the metaphorical rain clouds begin to fade.

They are not gone forever – he of all people knows this. But for now, in this summer afternoon, they are out of his mind and, for a while, they will not matter. He is happy here, with the sea at his fingertips (_hey, Dad)_ and the sun watching over him (_hey, Apollo). _For now, optimism – a little hope for his future, for tomorrow, forever – is okay. Because sometimes it's nice to hope and dream and enjoy the day. Sometimes – even when you're having a bad day (_or life, he thinks to himself_) – it's okay to sit back and be… well, happy.

And so he lies back and he sighs contentedly, and lets a smile etch itself upon his face, the song echoing in his ears, and succumbs to an afternoon of happiness; and somehow, he hears his own voice meet the sound of the radio as he joins in for the final line –

"_Please don't take my sunshine away."_


	7. Caught On Camera

**Summertime blockbusters are famous for having those one of a kind scenes - the kinds you can never recreate again. But as Percy and Annabeth find out, there's no harm in trying...**

**_Song Choice: 'Love Story' by Katherine McPhee_**

**_- or -_**

**_Song Choice: 'Old Before I Die' by Robbie Williams_**

* * *

Caught On Camera

"Do you trust me?"

"I trust you."

Annabeth's arms were outstretched horizontally, her eyes closed. I leaned forward slightly, making sure I didn't lean on her but forward enough so that I could tilt my head to fit in the crook of her neck. She was grinning, and her golden hair was blowing behind her. I sighed, caught in the moment.

"Argh!"

Annabeth's shout made me jump. My hands fell from her outstretched arms, but now, she was laughing. I pressed stop on the camera.

"What?" I asked, more anxious than irate, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I just thought I was falling," she said matter-of-factly, "But I'm not now, so hey-ho." She stepped down off the bottom wrung of the barrier that we had leaned upon, down by the docks, and sighed happily, her gaze flickering out to the sea briefly and then back at me. I could see New York in the afternoon sun reflecting back in her grey eyes. It was great having her around – everything suddenly became much more interesting. "Did you get it on tape?"

"Uh-huh," I said, gesturing to the video camera placed neatly nearby on the barrier. "Scene number three is complete."

Annabeth turned to the video camera and spoke clearly, after pressing record once more. "That was Kate and Leo in Titanic – minus the crappy soundtrack, because that's the most nauseating song in the world." She smiled and turned off the camera, snapping it shut and popping it in her bag. I rolled my eyes as we set off down the pier, Annabeth pulling a lollipop out of her bag and undoing the wrapper thoughtfully.

"Ok…which corny movie scene are we going to attempt now?" she mused, spinning her lollipop around in a spiral motion in the air. She spied an Italian restaurant across the road, and she caught my eye, grinning mischievously. "Lady and the Tramp, perhaps?"

It took me a minute to get what she was implying.

"What, with the spaghetti?" I exclaimed, horrified, "No, no, no! Did you smack your head on the pavement or something? Ew, Annabeth!"

Annabeth seemed to be finding the situation rather amusing. "A little overly defensive, aren't we, Percy? Suspicious…very suspicious…"

"Go to Hades. Remind me again, why are we doing this? To rid me of every last snippet of dignity? To put on Olympian YouTube?"

"Because it's fun," Annabeth told me, taking another lick of her lollipop, "And because if we 'accidentally' slip this to Silena, she might lay off us and quit asking me to ask you out, because she'll think that I already have. That was why we did Titanic. You see?"

I frowned. "But you haven't. Asked me out, I mean." _At least, not to my recollection_, I thought worriedly.

"She doesn't need to know that." Annabeth winked at me uncharacteristically and then laughed at my mortified face. "Come on, Seaweed Brain. I have an idea."

And with that, she ran on ahead. I shook my head with a laugh and followed on after her, down the New York street, on to the next adventure she had in store for us both.

* * *

"This will never work. I'd rather do the Lady in the Tramp thing."

Annabeth frowned at me as she passed me my mop, custom made with red insulation tape wrapped all the way around the long handle to give it a glowing effect. She now grasped her own blue mop and held it up, as if she were bracing herself for battle. "Of course it'll work, Seaweed Brain," she said exasperatedly, picking up the large black bucket that was on the side of my apartment worktop, which had eye holes cut into it and room for her mouth to show. "It'll work because we _want _it to work."

"A believe-in-your-dreams-and-your-dreams-will-come-true kind of thing," I suggested, eying my mop warily. I prayed to the gods that my mom was not likely to walk into our apartment anytime soon. I would never live that down.

"Exactly."

"You have dreams about re-enacting scenes from _Star Wars: A New Hope_, do you?"

Annabeth shot me a withered look and didn't bother replying before placing her bucket on her head. It sounded bizarre but she still managed to look seriously cute in the bucket. I suppose it was because I didn't have to listen to her.

"Ok?" Annabeth said, her voice muffled and slightly confused, "Can you turn the camera on, please? I would, but I'm kind of preoccupied…" Her voice trailed off as she tried to gesture towards the helmet when her mop swung forwards and hit her, right between the eye holes. She yelped. I tried my best not to laugh, and pressed the record button.

_"I've been waiting for you, Obi Wan," _Annabeth said in a deep, slightly robotic voice, in between rather emphasised heavy breathing, "_We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete."_

I was doing all I could to try not to even grin as I held my mop up in a classic defensive position.

"_When I left you,"_Annabeth continued, sounding rather menacing, "_I was but the learner – now I am the master."_

"Only a master of evil, Darth," I said, wishing this Obi-Wonky-Donkey guy was better at the comebacks. Annabeth had suggested earlier that I attempt the British accent, but after several failed attempts it was decided that my British accent sounded more like my voice box had been shoved in a blender, and we gave up.

We lunged at each other, and I was trying so desperately hard not to smile as our 'lightsabers' clashed in mid-air. I tried to strike quickly, but Annabeth's lightening flash of a strike pushed my mop backwards. I backed up slightly, wishing that I could just wrench out Riptide and have the whole thing over with.

"_Your powers are weak, Seaweed Brai- old man." _Annabeth said, and I could tell by the light in her eyes that she too was on the verge of collapsing with laughter.

I regained enough control to stammer, "You can't win, Darth." I paused and then frowned. "Is that his first name? Darth? I thought it was just –"

"Percy."

"Oh yeah! Uh – if you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine." Our mops met in combat once more, until I glanced over my shoulder at an invisible Luke Skywalker.

And, as rehearsed, Annabeth's mop came down and struck straight down one side of me, so on the camera, which was pointed horizontally, the lightsaber seemed to drag all the way down my body. I stepped out of the view of the camera (such stunning special effects!) to make it look as if I had disappeared.

"I…was just…bluffing!" I managed to choke out, before Annabeth wrenched the bucket off her head and turned off the camera. And now, when the scene was over, we both collapsed with laughter, tears rolling down our faces, unable to speak for any length of time.

"I can't breathe!" Annabeth said in a strangled voice, trying to steady herself on the kitchen death star. "D'you think they have Accident and Emergency rooms in a galaxy far far away?"

* * *

"Ok. You win. That _was _fun," I admitted as stood, leaning up against the railings of my apartment balcony. Annabeth took a sip of her drink and then set it down on the tiny table beside her. The video camera was there, too – a padlock now wrapped around it, and the key to said padlock hidden away, where only Annabeth and I knew where it was.

"Told you." Annabeth grinned at me as she pulled out a notebook and pen from her pocket and flicked over a few pages until she found what she was looking for. "Now…here's the list we made of things we were going to do. I'll dictate. You see check, or give me the reason why we didn't do it. Okay?"

"Check."

She didn't even bother to give me a withered look this time.

"Okay….the _Waterworlds_ stunt where he bungee-jumps out of the air before the rope is even tied to rescue the boy on the jet ski before all the bad guys' crash and cause a huge explosion." She looked up expectantly.

"Uh, we didn't do that one."

Annabeth made a deliberate cross next to the sentence and then read the next one, her eyes narrowed in concentration. The words, I noticed, were large so she were able to read them better.

"Hmm…ooh, this was a good one. The wooden horse at Troy!"

"Uh-huh," I said, and then corrected myself, "I mean, uh…check. It would've worked better if we had used a wooden horse instead of a wooden spoon with tooth picks taped on with the sides, though."

"And if you had agreed to wear the toga and sandles…"

"You swore never to mention that again!"

Annabeth laughed, her grey eyes shining, even in the darkening night. I could hear the television on in the distance behind us, and the New York traffic moving steadily on below us. It was a peaceful night by NYC standards, and her face lit up the scene as the smile hovered a little longer in the hair. She blushed when she noticed I was watching her, and I looked down, the moment caught between us.

"Uh…the next one," Annabeth said after a pause, her voice still lingering on the scene just past, "Charlie's Angels – the bit where Cameron Diaz does all the kick-ass fighting."

"Check. You loved that."

Annabeth's eyes sparkled but she said nothing. "Titanic?"

"Check."

"Pride and Prejudice?"

I blushed, trying not to let my mind wander to hours previously, where I had had to jump into the sea in one of my old school shirts, simply so Annabeth could video me coming out dripping wet, Mr Darcy style. If that ever got onto the internet or _Hephaestus TV_, I was doomed.

"We didn't do Gone With The Wind – not Lord of the Rings…you wouldn't do Harry Potter because of the British accent…."

"I was crap, wasn't I?"

"Yep. And then we did Star Wars. Is that it? Did I get everything?" Annabeth looked up. I nodded, not really knowing if we had or not, but just to see her satisfied smile as she tucked the notebook away once more. We both looked out across the skyline, deep in thought.

"D'you think someone will ever make a movie about us?" I said after a while. Annabeth frowned, looking thoughtful. The idea had never occurred to us and now it had, I found it quite unnerving. "I guess someone would have to write it down first. We could get someone else to do that. Like, start off on that field trip with Mrs Dodd's. They could be like, _Percy Jackson and the Lightening Stealer, _or something.

"That would never work."

"Perhaps not."

Annabeth rested on both of her arms upon the railing. "You'd have to be the main character," she said slowly after much deliberation, "Being the great hero and all. Box office hit of the century – the demigod who saved Western Civilisation."

"Or crapped it up."

Annabeth's eyebrows furrowed and she looked at me thoughtfully. "Why do you think you'd do that?"

I sighed, not really knowing what to say. "Because…I'm, y'know. Me. I mess things up a lot. I don't know much. I make a ton of mistakes. Sometimes I just think there are so many people who are better suited to this…job."

"You'll be fine," Annabeth reassured me. I looked at her with my eyebrows raised and she laughed, shaking her head. "Ok, I don't know that. But what I do know is that you'll make the _right _decision. Whatever you decide to do."

"Great."

"And I'm sure it'll be the summer blockbuster of the century," she added, and we cracked up, laughing off the sincerity of the conversation. Annabeth moved closer to me and ducked under one of my arms, so I had one wrapped around her. I was glad of the dark so that she couldn't see me blushing.

"You know what?" I said, breaking the silence.

"What?" she asked, looking up at me slightly.

I smiled to myself, and kissed the top of her hair lightly. "It wouldn't be much of a film without you in it, too. We're kind of a package deal, you see." I thought she was going to laugh at me, but she just smiled as well.

"Yeah, I like that. Percy and Annabeth. The dynamic duo. Partners in crime."

I laughed. "The Han Solo and Chewbacca of demigods, right?"

She laughed too, and I held her closer, the scent of her hair calming my senses for once as the busy New York night settled in around us, rushing past as we were still for a few moments.

"Oh, and Percy?"

I glanced down at her. "Yeah?"

"Which one of us is Chewbacca?"


	8. So Close

**My first ever songfic - set up, on Olympus, after the Winter Solstice with the memorable dance we all know and love. The song is _'So Close'_ by Jon Mclaughlin - the song danced to in the ballroom in Enchanted. I hope this oneshot will enchant you, too...**

* * *

So Close

"I, uh, was thinking we got interrupted at Westover Hall. And…I think I owe you a dance."

How had he become so unpredictable? One minute he was defending himself in front of the twelve immortal Olympians, risking his life into the bargain – the next he was sliding his hand into mine and stepping out into the street with his eyes fixed upon my own. One hand was at my waist, my skin burning through my shirt as he pressed his palm against my side. I slid my own hand upwards so it rested upon his shoulder, wondering why I felt this desire to cling to him, like he could save me from the world.

"_You're in my arms_

_And all the world is calm_

_The music playing on for only two…"_

This was so strange. Hours ago, I'd been pretending he had been there, beside me, on that gods-forsaken mountain. That his calloused hands were holding mine. That his eyes never left mine so I couldn't see the world that had fallen down around me. And now he was _here_…

"_So close – together_

_And when I'm with you_

_So close to feeling alive…"_

Even when I had been there, in chains, with my Percy, in my head, I hadn't blocked out the scenes around me. It was so odd to look back now, but at the time I hadn't questioned it for a single moment; I didn't need to block out the world when I had Percy – subconscious or not.

"_As life goes by_

_Romantic dreams will start_

_So I kiss mine goodbye and never knew…"_

Was it love? Was it? Did I really love him? Was it worth loving him, when he was so reckless? Yes, that was the question…not if things were, but it things were worth it…

"_So close, was waiting_

_Waiting here with you_

_And now, forever, I know…"_

What did I want – from him? Did I want him to _love_ me, too? Of course not…I was a daughter of Athena. I didn't need love. Love was unnecessary; fruitless and painful. There was no worth in love. And why waste time on something with no worth…even if, perhaps, I did want it…

"_All that I wanted _

_To hold you_

_So close…"_

My head fell gently upon his shoulder and I blushed. How very dependant I had become of him – I had needed him to save me, to befriend me, to release me for years, seven whole _years_ of waiting…Did I need him to love me? There was no doubt that I now I needed _him_ to get me through the day – the very thought of losing him was unimaginable…

"_How could I face the faceless days?_

_If I should lose you now…"_

I wasn't allowed to want Percy – it was dangerous, and distracting. He had a purpose – to fulfil the prophecy, and I had no right to deny that purpose. But we were almost there – time was hurtling towards us with just years to wait…Surely, one momentary lapse of weakness wouldn't ruin everything – or should I wait until after, when everything was gone and he was just Percy. But if there was no after…

"_We're so close_

__

To reaching that famous happy end

and almost believing this was not pretend…"

Not now. Not right now, with everything so shrouded in doubt. He would need me – I knew that, quietly confident in the fact. He _would _need me in his fate, and I would come when called. For now, the quiet thoughts would remain just that – as quiet thoughts; hushed away in the corner of my mind, saved for a rainy day and a break from reality and fate…

"_Let's go on dreaming for we know we are_

_So close…so close…"_

_**"And still so far…"**_


	9. Promises

**This was a risk - a big risk. I don't know what the reaction will be to this chapter - it's sad and it's unexpected, and some things happened I didn't intend. This is set a year after BOTL, when Percy knows that he does not have long left to live, but all to live for...including his love for Annabeth...**

**_Song choice: 'Footprints In The Sand' by Leona Lewis_**

* * *

Promises

"I'm going to miss you." Her words broke the silence.

Percy paused and glanced at her quickly, yet she continued to walk down the beach, her eyes fixed upon the footprints she left upon the sand. She felt an aching feeling of guilt - the subject was not one they often discussed, but she knew that the conversation had to be had, and now was as good a time as any. Yet still, she could not ignore the tightening of his jaw, the tense posture of his shoulders, and the flicker of insecurity in his eyes...

"I don't want you to."

It was her turn to stop and gaze up at him, confused. He sighed, his gaze dropping away from hers and out to the ocean. She knew that it was painful for him to speak of this - to talk of and plan his own death and the aftermath of it; a time he would not even live to enjoy. She stood, waiting for him to elaborate.

"You have a life ahead of you," he said quietly, his voice impossibly soft, "A life to lead. And I don't want you to be thinking about me for the rest of your life, when you... have so much to live for." He paused again - Annabeth knew there were words on his lips still waiting to be said, but the expression of his face and the tone on his voice made her stomach tighten anxiously, as if there were worse to come. "And...I've been finding ways...to wipe your memory of me. So you don't remember me."

Her breath caught in her throat and she pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes stinging sharply. He did not - or could not? - meet her gaze; his face was a mask, impassive and guarded. She felt her hand fall from her face; only for a tear to slip away to follow it as it did so.

"So I have nothing to remember?" she whispered, her voice broken and stricken. "I don't have anything to remember you by? It'll be like you never even _existed_?" She gasped as more tears began to come, and she fell to her knees with her head in her hands. She had not felt pain like this before, and she shook, feeling cold and numb; her mind was unwilling to take in the words he had uttered.

He sat beside her, his gaze out at the ocean. She looked at him through tear filled eyes, unable to speak. She reached out absently to trace a lock of his hair, down his tanned skin by his beautiful eyes - her touch was as gentle as she could will it, as though he were so very delicate and breakable. He bowed his head, tears filling his own eyes now. She felt broken, hollow - she wished he would take her in his arms and tell her it would all be okay, even if he were lying. She hated to see him like this - so fragile and scared. He was just sixteen, his decision (and ultimately his death) hurtling towards them - and yet he had to prepare to have his life taken from him, all for the greater good. She gritted her teeth angrily, tears splashing upon the sand with haste, but her anger soon subsided. She leant towards him.

"I need to remember you," she whispered, her voice in his ear. "Please, anything. Don't take the memories I have of you, Percy - I..." She stopped, her voice still wavering in strength. "Won't you even let me remember that I loved you?"

His eyes closed, and she felt his pain. He started to say her name, and broke away, unable to even speak. Only he could be so strong like this - for her. How could life be so cruel to take him from her, now - after everything they had survived together? And why did it have to be him, of all the people in this world? Why was he the one to suffer this fate?

"My biggest regret," he murmured, his eyes still closed, though his hand wandered to hers and slipped into it, as if it were made to fit there, "is not getting to live my life with you. We..." He stopped, pain showing on his face. "We had a great future coming, didn't we?" He laughed quietly to himself, though she knew that this was not something he took lightly. He opened his eyes and his arm brushed hers, setting her skin alight.

"We had everything," she said quietly, though a regretful smile played on her lips, too. She let her hand run down his face once more, feeling in his skin the ocean; the rush of the tide and the crash of the wave in a touch, "A family, maybe. A house somewhere, outside the city. A wedding..." Her voice trailed off, lost in thought.

For the first time, his eyebrows furrowed. "A wedding?" He said the word thoughtfully, as though the idea had never occurred to him. Annabeth nodded and looked out to the sea, her mind away once more. _Two children? Three?_

"What if I could promise you that?"

She blinked out of her reverie, looking at him with a bemused expression. The light in his eyes had changed - it was thoughtful, inventive, and she did not understand why. "Promise me what?"

"A wedding."

Her eyes widened, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. She saw the smile on his face grow, like her heartbeat deep inside her. She would not have believed he had said that, if she hadn't seen his lips move. Her own lips parted, unable to speak, her mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. She blinked, her eyes darting about as she tried to come to terms with what he was saying - it was like her world had started to spin in a whole other direction. He could not mean what she thought he meant - could he?

"I, uh..." She blinked once more, trying to fight the urge to smile and gasp and maybe even run a mile. She swallowed, her eyes meeting his as her heartbeat rang around her ears, faster than she could ever imagined. "You - are you - asking -"

His playful smile widened even more. "Maybe."

She felt dizzy - her head felt so light, and she felt so daring and reckless. Excitement seemed to set her alight and she could not stop herself from smiling, even just a little - it was bizarre how electric she felt; she could not ever remember feeling quite so alive, so wanting of something she had never known. She sat up a little straighter, and met his eyes, trying desperately hard not to shake with all this energy she suddenly found rushing through her veins.

"You have to ask me properly," she said in a rush, her hands shaking now, a smile almost upon her face. It was only then that she saw the slight flaw in the plan. "But you don't have a..."

She watched him throw her a brilliant smile as he turned away from her to run his hand above the water. And to her astonishment, water rose, spinning in a graceful arch above his hand; the rush of the sea water seemed to swirl around the centre point of the arch where it began to intertwine, each tiny current flowing so delicately, wrapping around each other with such little effort. And then above all the other currents, a stunning silver tide rose from the water and cascaded over the others, leaving behind something that made her heart race even faster...Percy lay out his palm and the ring fell into it, the diamond glinting from its setting of the flawless ring.

It was exquisite - simple and yet so elegant, almost antique, with a diamond set at the centre so perfectly Annabeth could not begin to describe. It was just so _beautiful_. She just stared in awe at the ring, unable to believe what she was seeing. Percy was still facing the water, the waves settling down once more. "You have to stand up," he reminded her, his back to her. She stood automatically, her legs shaking as she did so. _This was it - this was it..._

And then he turned towards her, down on one knee. She was shaking so much now - she could feel her breath in the air, quick and excited. Her eyes met his, and she saw everything - past, present...future? He smiled, and she could not help but wonder - was it possible to love someone this much?

"Annabeth," His voice was so soft, like music to her hears, like velvet running across her skin. "If I had a tomorrow without you, I'd wish with all my heart for that tomorrow to become a yesterday. For everything we've been through, I love you more each day - if that's even possible. Each day I think that I couldn't love you more, but then the next comes and I can't help but do just that.

"Annabeth..." He said her name once more, his eyes meeting hers for one beautiful moment of light, and she knew, then, what she would say – everything started to spin faster, her heartbeat so erratic she had trouble breathing. He smiled once more; those sea green eyes deep enough to fall into, like an ocean of emeralds…

"Will you marry me?"

_The rush of the tide...the light of the sun...the cool sand on their skin..._

"Yes." It was a whisper, a trembling whisper, greeted by a tear upon her cheek as she fell to her knees and his lips, so soft yet sincere, met hers in the sunset - his ring sliding upon her finger, his hands rushing through her golden hair, his heartbeat ringing in her ears as the tide met them upon the sand as he held her, closer to his heart than ever before.

"I love you, Seaweed Brain." It was a promise whispered to his heart, and he smiled as he traced her face with his hand. He pressed his lips to hers once more and murmured back to her; a murmur which stirred her heart and brought a tear to her startling grey eyes...

"I love you too, Wise Girl. More than you could ever know."

_He is hers. Forever._

_However long that is._


	10. Confessions

**Sometimes things can be said in words that could never be uttered aloud, especially when you're feeling so alone...But what will be the price for every last one of those terrible confessions?**

**_Song Choice: "Love Me" by Yiruma (it really is worth having this on the background...)_**

* * *

Confessions

From: **parthenonchic**

To: **seaweedbrain™**

Subject: **You had better read this…or else.**

_Seaweed Brain,_

_I really really really don't know what to write. I'm just going to put pen to paper and not cross anything I write out – that way I can't chicken out of telling you the truth. I thought it would be easy to write this down because…well, I know you so well. In fact that kind of makes it even harder, because now I can't lie. _

_I know it's been almost a year since we've spoken, and I know that's my fault. Don't try to argue with me – you know it's true. I know it's not the right way to go about things, but with everything that's happened, I haven't exactly been thinking straight._

_I know this last year hasn't been easy on you either, Percy, and I don't mean this offensively, but you have absolutely no idea what I'm going through right now. Losing a friend that way…Look, I just can't talk about it right now, okay? It's just too much, and I doubt you'd understand. Why would you, when you never knew the Luke I knew?_

_I suppose…well, I guess it would be like if you woke up one morning and I wasn't there, and you wanted with all your heart to find me and for me to be there again with you, even though you knew that wasn't what I wanted, because I had no control over what I was doing…however horrific what I was doing was. How completely helpless would you feel? What would you do?_

_I just can't talk about it. I can't deal with this._

_Look, the reason I'm writing now is just to let you know how sorry I am. I really am sorry, Percy, that I haven't been in touch. You deserve better, I know, and I also know you don't want to be alone in all this._

_Oh yeah. I forgot. You've got Rachel. Right. Stupid Annabeth. _

_Crap. I promised myself I'd mention her much later on. Oh well. I suppose it was guaranteed to come up sooner or later. Here we go._

_Firstly, I want to make this absolutely clear. I DO NOT HATE RACHEL. Under normal circumstances, if I'd met her at school or something, we'd probably have got on famously. But sometimes I just feel – well, I feel like she's taking my place, you know? That she gets to see the side of you at school or whatever I would really love to see. All we seem to do is fight nowadays. I would do anything to swap places with her right now – that I'd get to see you everyday, doing normal stuff and just having fun. _

_I totalled it up, and I only get to see you, normally, for about eight or nine weeks a year. That's only, like, fifty-six days or so. There are three hundred and nine days where I don't get to see you. But she doesn't even know you! She's just some mortal girl. We've been through_ _everything together, but in my eyes you're practically worshipping her._

_I really really hate myself being like this, but I feel totally clueless as to what to do. Like, all I can think about is if you guys make snide jokes about me and everything. Well, do you? Do you even miss me when you're with her? Do you compare the two of us, like some kind of…I don't know. Something comparable._

_I guess it boils down to her being yet another obstacle between us. I can't lose you , even if it is just to some mortal girl. I can't, I can't, I can't. (There are a lot of things I can't do – you might have noticed). If I lose you, I honestly don't know what I'd do. You mean so much to me, Percy – you're such a good friend, and I can't lose you over something so fickle. I've already been thinking you'd gone, and I could never do that again._

_There's something else. I don't understand how it works – that for days I'd sit at the beach and say stuff like 'if he comes back I swear I will never let him out of my sight' – and yet here we are, and I'm just so angry at you, for letting me feel like that._

_I honestly thought you were punishing me when you didn't come back. I kept thinking what a horrible person I was and blaming myself for everything – that I hadn't left you, would you have survived? _

_Oh gods, and now I'm crying, and I've barely scratched the surface of how painful those two weeks were for me. I won't hurt you by writing about that. I know you had no choice (well, you could have stopped Calypso from falling in love with you. That was a choice. And also, you should have come back earlier. But I'm getting distracted). I would have done something awful if you hadn't come back, Percy. Would a goddess have kept you from coming back to your life?_

_Okay, I swear this is my final rant, I promise. It's actually rather fickle, really, but I'm still mad about it…so just bear with me, okay?_

_Your birthday is August 11__th__, isn't it? WHY DIDN'T YOU FREAKING TELL ME? Tyson let it slip (he calls every so often. It's strange, but talking to Tyson is oddly soothing) and I just felt awful. I mean, I've known you nearly four years and you've never ever let me buy you a birthday present. And I've some really amazing stuff but I didn't know when your birthday was, so I couldn't get them for you. You drive me CRAZY!_

_Ohmygods. RACHEL didn't come to your party, did she? OHMYGODS, SHE DID. Did you play Twister? Ohmygods, you played Twister and ate blue birthday cake and you asked her out, didn't you? OHMYGODS. YOU'RE GOING TO GET MARRIED AND HAVE KIDS, AREN'T YOU? And you'll steal all my baby names and call them Alex and Helen and Ruben, right? OHMYGODS. _

_Percy, Percy, Percy, Percy, Percy. What do I do? Tell me what I should do! I'm going mad!_

_I'm just so SORRY. Do you want me to say it. It's all my fault and I was unnecessarily horrid to Rachel and yes, I'm jealous of her and I really miss you and all I can do is play that song that we danced to on Olympus over and over again and I think I'm in love with you and –_

_**CRAP.**_

_**I ACTUALLY JUST ADMITTED IT TO MYSELF. I WROTE IT DOWN. AND NOW YOU'RE GOING TO KNOW. OH NO, OH NO, OH NO. **_

_Please, please, please don't be mad. I can't help it. Everything's just happening so fast. But that's the one thing I'm sure of._

_That I'm …y'know. In love with you._

_FRICK! What do I do? Percy, help me! I've got a head full of questions and absolutely no answers! Are YOU the answer? Am I actually crazy? Is that it? ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?_

_**IF YOU TELL ANYONE, I WILL KILL YOU.**_

_Oh no, and now I'm threatening you. I promise to not actually kill you. I'll just be seriously mad, okay?_

_(Actually, I think death would be preferable to me being seriously mad.)_

_But please, please, please don't think you have to reply to this. You don't have to do ANYTHINGI. I'll just sit here, not waiting for a response. I can do that. I can just sit here, not knowing._

_Please, please reply. I have to know if I've freaked you out. AND IF YOU TELL RACHEL ELIZABETH FREAKING DARE, I SWEAR – _

_Okay. I need to calm down. I'm ending the e-mail now, before I do anymore damage. I've crapped everything up. Oh no, oh no, oh no…_

_I'm so sorry. Write back, okay? Soon. It doesn't have to be long. Just a paragraph, if you want. I just need to know you don't think I'm a psychopath. Or if you do, that you still like me in spite of that._

_OHMYGODS, WHEN I PRESS SEND, YOU'RE GOING TO KNOW._

_I CAN TOTALLY DO THIS. Okay. Bye, Seaweed Brain._

_OH, HOLY ATHENA._

_Annabeth_

_xx_

_PS. I DON'T…NO, I CAN DO THIS. I CAN PRESS SEND._

_I CAN'T. I CAN. _

_PERCY, WHY CAN'T YOU DO WHAT YOU ALWAYS DO AND __**SAVE **__ME?_

Annabeth took a deep breath, her fingers trembling. Her hand hovered over the mouse. All she had to do was press send. It wasn't hard. Just one click, and away it would go, straight to him. And he'd know. He'd know everything.

She could do this. Her hand lowered slightly – she was so close, she could almost feel his green eyes scanning her words, all those miles away -

_"Annabeth! Come on, bedtime, honey!"_

_"I'll be right there!"_

And then her hand moved to the edge of the screen to that little red cross and clicked, destroying it all in one swift motion.

And he would never know.


	11. Calling Him Home

**This is about the big Percy/Rachel/Annabeth debate - when Percy has to decide between the two, what can he do but hope that one day he'll have made the right decision...**

**_Song choice: 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved' by The Script (this is more Percy and Annabeth, but what the Hades.)_**

* * *

Calling Him Home

_"You have two new messages. First new message. Received today at 5:33pm."_

_"Hey Percy. It's Rachel. I just wanted to know if you were free in about…uh, I think it's two weeks time – March 18__th__? Anyway, it's my cousin's birthday party and she said I could bring a friend if I wanted, seen as I don't know anyone…and I thought you might want to come, maybe. It's kind of over the top. She's kind of rented out this theme park place for the day…just her and a few friends ...okay, like, a hundred – and my dad's paying, so… I don't know if you're busy or if you're interested but…let me know. It could be fun. Okay, call me back. See you at school! Bye!"_

He blinks at the phone as the message ends, thinking. It sounds like fun. He's pretty sure his mom won't have a problem with him going. He leans over and is about to dial Rachel's number when the answering machine beeps again. He blinks once more, his hand outstretched towards the phone.

"_Second new message. Received today at 5.35pm."_

_"Hey Percy. It's Annabeth."_

He freezes in midair, his eyes wide and his heartbeat seems to stop altogether. Eight months he's been waiting to hear those four words. And now he's heard them, his world has stopped turning.

"_I know this is out of the blue, but I just…I wanted to see how you were…and to tell you that I'm going to be in the city in a couple of weeks….Well, I'm arriving on the seventeenth of March, so I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to do something on the eighteenth. That would be…cool. Maybe. We need to talk, I guess. We could do something fun, right?" _

She sighs on the recording and pauses, as if verbalizing her thoughts is more difficult than she thought.

"_Look, you don't have to. See me, I mean. But if you do…well, call me back, okay? I kind of miss you. Talk to you soon, Seaweed Brain. Bye."_

One long beep. "_To return the call, press one. To listen to the message again –"_

He hits the machine once and the woman's voice fall silent. He sits back on the sofa and runs and weary hand through his hair, his eyes closing as he is lost to thought; two girls' voices ringing in his ears. He knows that whoever he calls now – that that will be his choice. Whichever number he dials, that's it. He can't go back on this decision.

He takes a deep breath. He reaches for the receiver.

And with his fingers trembling, he begins to dial.

**_A/N: Whoops. _**


	12. White Christmas

**I come bearing gifts! It's not quite gold, frankincense or myrrh, but it's just a little stocking filler. **

**This is a special, Christmas themed story set after BOTL, seeing how Percy and Annabeth are spending Christmasses apart; with snow, Monopoly, marshmallows on sticks and everything else you'd want from a little fluff. I tried a new technique here, so I'd appreciate feedback on how it works. Merry Christmas and Holidays to all, and a very Happy New Year!**

**_Song choice: 'White Christmas' by Bing Crosby_**

* * *

White Christmas

"You playing, Paul?"

The room was barely recognisable. There was tinsel draped across the photo and picture frames hung at the walls; cards were pinned to cover one wall behind the sofa, their glistening colours almost shining brighter than the twinkling lights surrounding the windows; and at the far corner of the room, a small tree sat in all its glory, adorned with miniature baubles and an ornate angel poised theatrically at its summit. The distant sound of choral music echoed from the miniature CD player perched on the coffee table, with the candles lit upon the window ledge, filling the room with a cosy glow.

Paul looked up from his magazine, frowning at the box clutched in his stepson's hands before him. "I, uh –" He looked dubiously up at Percy, who was resisting the urge to smile at his expression. "Monopoly?"

"Sure. Monopoly." Suppressed smiles were difficult to talk through, and so Percy decided to exchange his subtlety for a small smirk. "It's a Christmas Eve tradition. I crap it up by trying to rob the bank. Mom tries to work out if she can rent out one of her houses to squatters for extra cash. Sound like fun?"

Paul eyed the box warily, before his shoulders slumped in surrender. "Oh, why not?" he said, waving a defeated hand. "It's Christmas. But bear in mind I can dial your English teacher at the click of the button, you know, if I'm getting stuck. And kid, I'm expecting a good game." He raised an eyebrow at Percy, who chuckled, setting down the box upon the floor by the twinkling Christmas tree and pulling out the board.

* * *

"You coming, Annabeth?"

The room was barely recognisable. There was tinsel draped across the book shelves and miniature planes hung at the walls; childish sketches of reindeer and Christmas gifts were pinned to cover one wall behind the dining room table, their bright colours almost shining brighter than the laptop screen perched on the side of the sofa; and at the far corner of the room, a large tree stood in all its glory, adorned with ornate golden baubles and a rosy-cheeked Santa Claus sat at the top. The distant sound of operatic music echoed from the large CD player stood on a nearby cabinet, with the candles thrust in the face of a blonde-haired young scholar who was staring intently at a glowing screen, lighting up her face with a cosy glow.

Annabeth looked up from her laptop, frowning at the candles clutched in her brother's hands before her. "I, uh –" She looked dubiously up at Matthew, who was resisting the urge to smile sweetly to change her disproving expression. "Candles?"

"Sure. Candles." Pleading, innocent expressions were difficult to talk through, and so Matthew substituted his cherub-like face for a mischievous grin. "We made them at school. Dad's going to take us down to the big tree and bonfire down the street in the Mason's garden. Sound like fun?"

Annabeth eyed the candles warily, before her shoulders slumped in surrender. "Oh, why not?" she said, waving a defeated hand. "It's Christmas. But bear in mind I can dial a Son of Poseidon to put out that fire at the press of a button, you know, if you misbehave. And Matt, I'm expecting a fire-hazard-free event." She raised an eyebrow at Matthew, who chuckled, turning and hurrying towards the front door where his brother stood waiting by the holly wreath.

* * *

"Okay, so that's the third trip to jail for Paul," said Percy brightly, lifting up the race car and placing it rather theatrically on the furthest square to the right. "Maybe you could ask them to name a cell after you. Get you a loyalty card or something."

"Hang on, careful!" Sally exclaimed, holding her hands protectively over her hotel icons. "Don't knock over my property empire!"

Percy chuckled into her coffee mug, running his hand through his hair before setting the cup down on the coffee table. Paul simply rolled his eyes at him, and Percy grinned mischievously before reaching for the dice. "Just be careful, you," said Paul darkly, watching as his step-son moved seven places along the board and reached for the chance card. "There's still time for me to bankrupt you. You'll be going under faster than you can say economic crisis."

"If you say so. Maybe faster than I can spell it, anyway. Ah, I won ten dollars in a beauty contest. There's a joke worthy of a Christmas cracker."

"Oh, I don't know," Sally said with a frown, observing her son carefully. "There must be something Annabeth sees in you. And if it's not charm, quick wit, intelligence or bank balance, I'm afraid we're going to have to assume it's your face."

Percy pulled a face at his mother, who winked and took the dice, rolling slowly and moving her counter in turn. Paul chuckled, watching him closely as he turned a redder shade. "So your girl's name's Annabeth, is it?" he said meekly, raising his eyebrows as Percy blushed further. "So come on. Tell us more. Should I be warning Miss Dare that she's got competition?"

"I'm not telling you _anything_," said Percy flatly, handing his mother her two hundred dollars as she passed the starter square. "It'll only end up as joke material, anyway, whatever I say, so I'm keeping my mouth shut."

His mother looked at him fondly, though there was a glimmer of mischief shining in her eye. "_I saw Percy kissing Annabeth_," sang Sally under her breath, unwrapping a small candy and popping in her mouth, "_Underneath the mistletoe last night –_" She was about to launch into the next verse when she caught sight of Percy's expression, and so she simply laughed, ruffling his hair motherly and reaching out for a community chest card. Her face soon fell, however, as she began to read aloud the instructions, disappointment etched upon her features.

"Make general repairs on all of your buildings," she said sadly, looking rather depleted. "For each house, pay $25. For each hotel – oh. I have to pay $100." She sighed, shaking her head. Percy pursed his lips, trying not to smile.

"It seems what goes around really _does_ come around," he said meekly, chancing a glance at his mother, before he was forced to duck with a laugh as a cushion came hurtling through the air in his direction.

* * *

"Okay, so that's the third marshmallow on a stick for Bobby," said Annabeth frowningly, lifting up the offending item and placing it rather theatrically in her younger brother's hand. "Maybe you should lay off them a bit. You'll rot your teeth with all that sugar, you know."

"Hang on, careful!" Samira exclaimed, guiding Bobby's sharp pointed stick away from his twin's eye. "Don't go rendering Matthew sightless, Bobby!"

Frederick chuckled into his scarf, smiling kindly at Annabeth before admiring the large burning bonfire before them. Annabeth simply rolled her eyes at him, and Matthew grinned mischievously before reaching into his pocket and bringing out a small piece of string. "Just be careful, Bobby," he said evilly, watching as his brother jumped away from the piece of string Matthew was attempting to use as a lasso and reached for his father' hand. "This bonfire ain't big enough for the both of us. You'll be tied up faster than you can say 'yeehah!'"

"I won't! Maybe faster than I can spell it, anyway." Bobby grinned, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket in turn. "Look, I got a joke in a cracker – a really really bad one. It's not even worthy of Dad when he's drunk."

"Oh, I don't know," Samira said with a frown, observing the paper carefully. "There's more potential in that joke than you're giving it credit for. And if it's not charm, quick wit, intelligence or ability to hold his drink, I'm afraid we're going to have to allow your father a few jokes to try and forgive his drunken state. It _is _rather embarrassing. That's why I'm rather glad they chose not to provide mulled wine this evening."

Annabeth pulled a face at her step-mother, who winked and took out a tissue, wiping Bobby's melted-marshmallow covered face gently. Frederick chuckled, watching her closely as she continued to wipe. "So...Annabeth, how's Percy?" he said meekly, chancing a glance at his daughter. Annabeth frowned, feeling suddenly rather defensive. "Come on. You haven't told us anything recently. Should I start retracting the wedding invitations?"

"I'm not telling you _anything_," said Annabeth emphatically, tucking her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. "It'll only end up going round as gossip down our road, anyway, whatever I say, so I'm keeping my mouth shut."

Her father looked at her fondly, though there was a glimmer of regret shining in his eye. "_Last Christmas, Percy gave her his love,"_ sang Frederick under his breath, unwrapping a small peppermint and popping in his mouth, "_But the very next day, she gave it away–_" He was about to launch into the next verse when he caught sight of Annabeth's expression, and so he simply laughed, ruffling his daughter's hair kindly and reaching out to brush her hair away from her face. His face soon fell, however, as he seemed to spot someone over Annabeth's shoulder – he cowered away, attempting to hide behind Samira's shoulder.

"Samira, hide me! Every year Mrs Metcalfe turns up," he complained, looking rather miserable, "and every year she always manages to seek me out so she can so she can poke fun at my toy-plane hobby. She never did forgive me for refusing to go out with her." He sighed, shaking his head as he shrank behind his wife in an attempt to hide himself. Samira pursed her lips, trying not to smile.

"It seems what goes around really _does_ come around," said Annabeth meekly, glancing over her shoulder at the woman, before she was forced to dodge out of the way as the woman spotted her and made a beeline in their direction.

* * *

"Oh, that was fun," said Sally cheerily, settling into the sofa sleepily and sighing. "It's been a few years since I've won; I always used to be a bit reckless when investing. I couldn't believe how good Tyson was at your birthday party, Percy."

"Mmm." He was only half listening, too consumed in trying to draw a miniature Santa on the corner of an old New York Times. Paul nodded musingly, his eyes upon the Christmas tree. Sally lay back on the cushions, closing her eyes contentedly as the sound of muffled carols rang in her ears. There was a silence for a minute or so, before she heard Paul shift slightly on the opposite armchair.

"I'd better go, Sally, I've got to go pick up my mother for tomorrow," he said, though there was a reluctant tone to his voice. Sally opened her eyes, watching as Paul stood and put on his jacket. "She's probably stood outside JFK with icicles hanging from her ears by now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Merry Christmas, Paul." She smiled at him as he waved goodbye. Percy returned the gesture, and then he was gone – seconds later the door was swinging shut behind him, and quiet fell over the apartment once more.

Sally sat up slowly, moving to join her son by the foot of the tree. She ran an absent hand through his hair, watching him as he added the finishing touches to his illustration. Percy glanced up at the tree once, the lights reflected in his sea-green eyes. His expression was thoughtful, if a little sad and reminiscent. Sally frowned.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly, blinking at him thoughtfully. He was shaken from his reverie, and turned to her with a shrug.

"Nothing," he replied, turning back to the drawing. "Just...thinking."

"About Annabeth?"

He hesitated, before smiling slightly. "Just a little."

His mother chuckled. "You really miss her, don't you?" she asked, watching him carefully. He nodded slowly, adding a small holly wreath to the side of his sketch. She sighed, resting her head motherly against his. For a moment, all that could be heard was a lone choir boy, singing his heart out, though his voice fell on deaf ears. Sally's gaze began to wander, along the tinsel and lights strewn about the cosy living room. When her eyes drifted to the windows, however, she could not help but allow herself a wide smile. "It's _snowing_!" she said joyfully, standing and moving across to the frame. Percy followed, joining his mother as they looked out at the snowflakes as they began to fall.

"Looks like we will have a White Christmas after all," said Sally, tugging her jumper tighter around her. Percy nodded, entranced, watching as the city began to blur in the swirl of the twinkling flakes, falling down upon the cars storeys below; the window filling up before their eyes with a thick layer of frosty white. The balcony was whitening before their very eyes. There was something immensely comforting about seeing the world outside begin to turn into something the Titanic would cower away from, while they remained tucked away inside, where the warmth seemed to wrap around them like a welcoming blanket.

"Merry Christmas, kiddo." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and gave her son a tight hug. He smiled warmly, unable to take his eyes away from the snow falling all around. Sally watched him, before leaning forward a little and planting a kiss on his cheek. "And I hope you get everything – _everything _- you really want."

He frowned up at his mother questioningly, looking in wonder at her innocent expression. He opened his mouth, as if to question, but a wink from his mother and he fell silent – and he could not help himself from smiling a small, hopeful smile to himself, watching intently as the snow fell all around, but only half-listening to the choir's gentle song came to an end.

* * *

"Oh, that was fun," said Samira cheerily, undoing her scarf sleepily and sighing. "It's been a few years since we've gone along to the Mason's little party, they used to be a bit reckless when lighting the bonfire. I couldn't believe how big the flame was at this year – did you see, Annabeth?"

"Mmm." She was only half listening, too consumed in trying to draw a large cathedral building blueprint on the corner of an old crossword. Frederick nodded musingly, his eyes upon the Christmas cards. Samira sat down back in the armchair, closing her eyes contentedly as the sound of her two sons playing amongst themselves in the corner rang in her ears. There was a pause for a minute or so, before she heard Matthew's raised voice as he scolded his brother.

"I'd better go put them to bed, Frederick, if we want any hope of them waking up at a reasonable hour tomorrow," she said, though there was a reluctant tone to her voice. Frederick turned, watching as his wife stood and guided Matthew and Bobby towards the staircase. "They're probably not going to get to sleep until it's time to wake up anyway, but we'll give it a try."

"Merry Christmas, dear." He smiled at Samira as she steered her sons up the stairs. Annabeth copied his gesture, and then the three were gone – seconds later the door was swinging shut behind them, and quiet fell over the room at last.

Frederick turned away from the cards slowly, moving to join his daughter sat upon the floor. He cast a bewildered gaze to Annabeth's sketch, watching her as she added the finishing touches to the structural supports. Annabeth glanced up at her father once, her sleepy composure reflected in his horn-rimmed glasses. Her expression was exhausted, if a little worrying and distant. Her father frowned.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked anxiously, blinking at her. She simply shook her head, and turned away with a shrug. "Nothing," she replied dismissively, turning back to the drawing. "Just...thinking."

"About Percy?"

She hesitated, before frowning slightly. "Perhaps."

Her father nodded. "You miss him, don't you?" he asked, watching her cautiously. She paused before nodding slowly, adding a small scaffold tower to the side of her sketch. She sighed, resting her head tiredly upon her knee. For a moment, all that could be heard was the two boys chatting excitedly, though their loud squeals carried downstairs. Frederick's gaze began to wander, along the mantelpiece and baubles strewn about the large living room. When his eyes drifted to the windows, however, he could not help but allow himself a burst of excitement. "It's _snowing_, dear!" he said happily, standing and moving quickly across to the sill. Annabeth slowly followed, joining her father as he looked out at the snowflakes as they began to fall.

"Looks like we might have a White Christmas after all," said Frederick, tucking his shirt tighter into his corduroy trousers. Annabeth nodded, engrossed, watching as the garden began to blur in the swirl of the sparkling flakes, falling down upon the boy's playhouse; the window filling up before their eyes with a thick layer of frosty white. The street outside was whitening before their very eyes. There was something immensely envious about seeing the world outside so peaceful and silent, while they remained tucked away inside, where the sounds of two rather excitable little boys were chorusing at the top of their voices somewhere above them.

"Merry Christmas, dear." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder tentatively and gave her a small squeeze. She smiled weakly, unable to take her eyes away from the snow falling all around. Frederick watched her, before gently patting her hair fatherly (Annabeth winced). "And I hope you get everything – _everything _- you really want."

She frowned up at her father enquiringly, looking in suspicion at her father's vacant expression. She opened her mouth, as if to accuse, but a small smile from her father and she fell silent – and she could not help himself from smiling a small, yet comforted smile to herself, watching attentively as the snow fell all around, but only half-listening to her brother's eager voices echoing down and breaking the silence of the sitting room once again.


	13. Sugar Crush

**Have found Biology lessons to be strangely inspiring – I've managed to come up with five story ideas in the last three lessons. And that's whilst trying to cut up liver and write the lyrics to The Winner Takes It All in French (if you care, it's _Le Vainqueur Prend Tout_). And a note – I don't want loads of Twilight-backlash after this, please! Sorry that I had to compare Robert Pattinson's hair to Jimmy Neutron. I know there are a lot of Jimmy Neutron fans out there who would be very offended...**

**_Song Choice: Eyes (Rogue Wave)_**

* * *

Sugar Crush

If she had known how annoyed she would become after buying the freaking magazine, she wouldn't have wasted her money.

All she'd wanted was a lollipop. She'd seen a girl at school with this incredible red and white swirl concoction, and her heart had burned with jealousy. It was exactly like the ones she'd used to get in Virginia – when things had been rough at home, she would run off to shop and buy herself a lollipop from the corner shop; a colossal monster of a thing bigger than her, that she'd lick for hours on end on the swing down the road, enjoying the sweet sticky sensation so much she could almost forget what was waiting for her at home.

So, of course, she'd asked the girl where she has got it from, and she'd said the store down the road from school.

Which had led her to the scene of the crime; stood, frozen to the spot, lollipop in hand, her eyes fixed upon a blazing headline before her very eyes.

She'd never been in this newsagents' before. It was a busy little shop, crowded, colourful, with rows upon rows of sugar coated candies and brightly packaged goodies arranged in towering piles in all four corners of the room. She had wandered in warily, her school bag slung over her shoulder as she clutched tightly at its strap.

The magazine in question was _definitely_ not her usual type of magazine. Trashy, girly, shallow. A picture of some topless vampire dude hairier than a gorilla in a centre, with a free pair of flip-flops in some sickening shade of pink. The free _Hannah Montana_ stickers and a chance to win lunch with the cast of_ Twilight_ should have told her enough. Not a single mention of important architectural developments or fascinating papers on the reconstruction of Ancient Earthquake's aftershocks and study on the inaccuracies of the Richter scale. The Jonas Brothers? Who the Hades were they? Lip-gloss, gossip, boys, shopping, boys, fashion, boys... It was way over priced, of course and in the normal circumstances, she'd have wrinkled up her nose in disgust and turned away. But when she saw the article – that stupid, silly little article – she'd stopped in her tracks.

_Is he really into you? Friends __–__ or maybe something more...? Let our Crush Quiz tell all!_

She was _so _suing if they were wrong.

So she'd had to buy the stupid thing. She'd shuffled discreetly to the counter, clutching the magazine to her chest so no-one else in the store could see, before placing it gingerly on the counter (with the lollipop, of course) and glaring at the shop assistant as if daring her to say something. Her fists clenched under the counter top. Throwing a punch was something she could do with confidence.

The assistant hadn't, of course – she'd beamed at her charmingly and put the barcode through the till, before taking the proffered money from Annabeth's shaky hand and cashing it slowly. She'd thought she was free to go, but before she could run out of the door and shove the magazine in her bag, the woman had called out and tapped her lightly on the arm. "Hey, there, honey. Don't you want your Hannah Montana stickers? And it says here you can win tickets to meet Robert Pattinson. You wouldn't want to miss out on that, now would you?"

Instead of telling her where to shove her stickers and what precisely she'd like to do with Robert Pattinson's Jimmy Neutron-esque hair, she had shaken her head jerkily and run for it.

The offending article had been shoved in her bag immediately upon her exit, and she had run across the road and down along the street without bothering to glance over her shoulder. _If someone at school has seen me __–__ oh my gods - _

And when she had finally found a secluded swing in the middle of a deserted neighbourhood park, she collapsed onto the seat in an attempt to regain her breath.

And now she was sat, clutching the magazine as tightly as if it were a lifeline, staring with such ferocity at the paper she was sure it would rip right before her very eyes.

Sparing an uncertain glance to her surroundings, she made sure she was completely alone – that no-one was within a hundred metre radius of her or the magazine – she opened it up. Scan the contents page. Ascertain as to the correct page number. Locate said page. Observe the incriminating evidence. Scan for clues.

_So, he__'__s a friend. You__'__ve known him a while. But now the troublesome teens have hit, and something__'__s changed. Is there a spark every time he gives you a flash of that smile? Is there some part of you that wants to smile and cry every time you see his number appear on caller ID? And is there a small thought that__'__s crossed your mind that maybe, deep down, he might feel the same way about you?_

_Want to know the answer? Want to get out of this sticky spot and find out how he __really feels? Simply take this quiz to find out how much he__'__s **really **into you. _

She glanced down at the first question. One couldn't hurt. One teeny weeny question. Just for the... experience. Yes, that was what this was. A learning curve. A taste of another culture. She was testing the water. Seeing if the grass really was greener on the other side.

She almost believed herself.

She settled herself down on the swing and took a deep breath. She hated how her palms were sweating.

_Question 1: Is he always ready to talk to you when you__'__re looking a little down?_

Whatever. The boy in question was too busy saving the world for that kind of thing. Not that she'd ever asked him to. She didn't need some dumb boy to hold her when she cried.

Apart from last year. But she was just stressed about the quest, not upset. And worrying about the prophecy. And all he did was hug her. And maybe he might have said something nice to cheer her up. She couldn't remember. It probably didn't mean much.

Digging a pen out of her pocket and scribbling a hasty circle around the 'yes' option, she sighed, chewing on the end of the pen absently as she narrowed her eyes at the next question. Hmm. Intriguing.

_Question Two: He goes all quiet and defensive whenever you talk about another guy in your life, doesn__'__t he?_

Hmm. Puzzler. Yes, now she thought about it, she vaguely remembered... On the trip up to Olympus on the Pegasi, he'd seemed pretty put out when she'd compared his and hers relationship to hers and...Luke's. Hmm. And again, only a few days later, at the end of the winter break, he'd seemed pretty mad when the subject had arisen. Actually, that had happened a lot. More times than she could count. She'd never really thought about it before.

_Question 3: He__'__s always making a fool of himself around you, right?_

This one didn't even need contemplating. The guinea pig incident, for starters. The dancing at Westover Hall. His mom telling the stories about him in the bath when he was three years old, and his face glowing a bright red as she and Thalia cackled with laughter. Ah, yes. Percy, King of Making-An-Ass-Of-Himself.

One big fat circle around the 'yes' column.

_Question 4: Has he already introduced himself to your folks and engaged in the most kiss-ass of conversations with them in a desperate bid to make them like him?_

Okay, she was going to have to assume this quiz wasn't written for demigods. I mean, how do you try and suck up to someone's godly mother? No amount of smooth talking could make Athena like him. He could be James Bond and her mother wouldn't bat an eyelid.

But her father...that was a different matter. He'd taken a shine to Percy, there was no doubting that. He'd been delighted when Percy had marvelled at his aeroplane collection. Her step-mom had been enchanted by him. In fact, she hadn't stopped talking about him ever since they'd met, last winter. She'd even forgiven him for blowing up the family car, though Annabeth assumed this may have had something to do with how appreciative he was of her cookies. Yes, he'd been a hit with the family, one way or another. He'd somehow managed to make them fall in love with him too.

No. Not 'too'. Not 'as well'. Just _made them fall in love with him_. With no additional word at the end of the sentence. None whatsoever.

_Question 5: Finally, isn__'__t he constantly making fun of you, and making you feel like a complete idiot, like a second grader? _

Finally? She frowned. How could the quiz be over already? She'd been enjoying that. Well, not enjoying...kind of more enjoying the experience of learning. Gathering insider information into the world of normal teenage girls. Not actually enjoying the quiz. Of course not.

Well, he sure as Hades knew how to make her blood boil, that was for sure. She'd only slapped him on occasions, but if she had her way, it'd be a daily routine. The olive and pizza extravaganza in the car, for crying out loud. He was _asking _for trouble by winding her up like that. He'd actually laughed at her to her face for wanting to be an architect. And how could she forget, the cream of the cake – the time when he'd popped up at his own _funeral_ whilst she was there waffling on about how brave and heroic and amazing he was. Whilst she'd been organizing a burial shroud, he'd been off cavorting with gorgeous goddesses under some lush summer sky.

If that wasn't making her feel like a prize fool, she didn't know what was.

Scratching a circle around the yes option for the final time, she leant in closer to make out the conclusion at the bottom. Another reason why such magazines were worthy of the darkest pit of Tartarus. They didn't even consider desperate love-stricken dyslexic demigods. Talk about inconsiderate.

_So, it__'__s official. He likes you. He totally likes you. On a love-o-meter of 1 to 5, he is a hundred times in love with you. I mean, come on __–__ he teases you because he likes you. He__'__s introduced himself to the folks (laying the groundwork for a potential relationship..?) He__'__s crazy jealous, he__'__s totally protective, he__'__s always looking out for you...what do you think__'__s going on in his mind? You__'__re his crush, of course! Act on it, take a leap __–__ let him know you__'__re interested too!_

What?!

_Don__'__t be scared. Just be cool and be yourself __–__ after all, that is who he__'__s interested in, right? And who knows? Maybe this could be the start of a beautiful relationship!_

**_What?!_**

_Friends first, then something more. It__'__s perfect! In fact, it__'__s better than perfect. It__'__s true love. But don__'__t wait around forever __–__ one thing we can guarantee is that guys have a really short attention span. Ask him out, throw yourself in at the deep end and set the ball in motion. Go for it, girlfriend!_

**WHAT?!**

She dropped the magazine into the dirt below the swing and stood on it, folding her arms over her chest and blinking down at her sneakers.

_Go for it, girlfriend!_

She shuddered, using her heels to kick the magazine behind her and listening to the satisfying _clang _as it hit the railings. Blowing a loose strand of her hair up off her face (and watching it fall back down across her line of vision), she narrowed at the climbing frame and ground her toe along the floor, leaving absent tracks in the dirt.

Stupid magazine. What did it know? Hmm? Answer: nothing. Absolutely nothing. _You go _for it, girlfriend. For the gods' sake, who even says that?

She stood up, reaching for school bag. And then she sat down again. And then stood up, and dropped back down. Hmm. Some part of her really didn't want to go.

A pause. She bit her lip, lost in thought for a moment. Leaning down and peeling the mud from the toe of her shoe, she glanced over her shoulder. Just once. To check, of course, that the magazine was still there. Which it was.

Interesting.

Not that she wanted it. She just didn't want to...litter. Yes, that was it. Leaving the magazine, lying the dirt would pollute the world even more, right? Or some poor little toddler could choke to death on it. And no one would want that. The poor parents would never recover if the little thing suffered terribly, so she would be doing them a favour if she...moved it somewhere more... safe. And it would be terrible to throw it in the trash. She might offend the nice shop assistant if she were to find out. It would lots of extra work for the guys who had to sort throughout it, too. And her dad would want to know what she'd spent her money on. So if she picked up the magazine, she was aiding society in a thousand different ways. Yes, she was saving the world by taking the magazine home with her. She was doing them all a favour.

She stood slowly, hesitantly, making sure no-one had approached in the last five minutes – before turning hastily on her heel and scarpering over to the railings, snatching up the magazine and hurrying back to the swing, dusting it off on her school skirt. She held it to her chest for a moment, sighing, before flicking through it hurriedly and finding the page once more. When she found the double page spread, she breathed a sigh of relief, running her palm over the shiny surface. Phew. Nearly polluted the world and killed a toddler for a minute there.

She stood, swinging her shoulder over her bag and jogging out of the park in the direction of home, the magazine clutched in her hand. The sun beat down, and for the first time she remembered the lollipop. Delving inside the satchel and pulling the candy from within, she undid its plastic film fastening and ran her tongue gently along the side of it.

Hmm. Sugary sticky heaven.

She walked on, down the street, past the houses of her neighbours and family friends absently, clutching the magazine unabashedly in her hand as she made her way along the sidewalk. She read as she moved on, her eyes scanning the articles with renewed interest as she enjoyed the lollipop clutched in her other hand. She finally finished the magazine when she reached the picket fence outside her house, and she felt a bizarre nostalgic reluctance to stop reading.

But then she stopped.

Damn these magazines. Damn them all to hell. Her eyes widened as she deciphered a blazoning headline on the back, reading with a look of horror etched upon her face as she stood in her front garden. Oh no. Not again.

_In next week__'__s unmissable issue_, it read, _an exclusive article on the thing that sends you wild with jealousy... your crushes__'__ girl best friend. They're spending a lot of time together, right? They seem kind of cute when they're around one another, right? Sure, he says there__'__s nothing going on...but does he really mean it? Who is he interested in; you or her? And the biggest question of all __–__ how are you going to prove to him that you__'__re the only one for him? Get your guy to dump the act and come clean with our Hot Tips on getting rid of his BFFL!_

Did she have another four dollars? Hmm. Well, one way or another, she was going to find it. Because there was no way, none whatsoever, that she was missing _that _issue. Not in a million years.

She took a celebratory lick of her lollipop. Oh, the wonders of crappy teen literature. In the meantime, she had some research to do.

Like found out what the Hades BBFL meant.


	14. Calling Him Home II

**SPOILER ALERT!**

**Don't know whether you guys have read the sneak peak of the Last Olympian yet (grinds teeth), but you may have noticed the outrageous, hideousness of the Prachel found in the sneak peak...involving a kiss. A kiss. For real. No Percabeth. Just plain Prachel. Which of course, makes me very very very angry as a hardcore Percabeth fan. So I decided to reap my revenge. Via fanfiction.**

**This is a second part of Calling Him Home, which was the one with the voicemails, where I didn't tell you who had called. So instead I wrote this, just to make you very clear as to where my loyalties lie. The answer is revealed at the end - I had lots of fun writing this! Who knew writing just text could be so fun?**

**_Song choice - 'Glasgow Love Theme' (Craig Armstrong)_**

* * *

Calling Him Home II

"Hello?"

"Oh! Uh – hi."

"Hi."

"It's uh...Percy, by the way."

"Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

"Well, yeah. I recognize your voice. And we have Caller ID, so..."

"Oh. Oh, right."

"So, you got my call."

"What? Oh, yeah, I did. That's kind of what I was calling about. You know, your call."

"Yeah. I guessed."

"Uh...Radical. Good, I mean. So, I was going to...well, take you up on your offer."

"Radical?"

"Never mind."

"What on earth is radical?"

"It's...just, forget it. I'm saying yes."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. It sounded...fun. It'd be nice to see you, I guess. Not nice. Well, yes, nice, but better than nice. Maybe."

"Sorry, you lost me. Is that a yes?"

"Yeah, it is. A yes, I mean."

"You're kind of all over the place."

"Yeah, sounds about right."

"Great. Okay, well, should I be at your apartment for about...hmm, about eleven?"

"At _night_?"

"No! In the morning!"

"Oh, right. Of course."

"So, that's okay? We're all set for then? You sure that...well, you sure?"

"I'm sure that what?"

"You weren't supposed to hear that. That was supposed to be ignored."

"It wasn't. Ignored, I mean."

"Yeah, I got that. I just...well, you're sure that _she _won't mind?"

"My...mom?"

"No! The other she."

"Oh. Oh, no. I don't think so. It wouldn't really matter – I mean, no, I don't think she'd mind."

"Okay, then. If you're sure."

"I am."

"If you say so. So, your place, around eleven?"

"It's a date."

"No, it's not."

"No! I didn't mean like that! I meant, it was noted. On the...calendar."

"Ah. I see."

"Not like a date, like a _date_. Like a _date_. If you know what I mean."

"Do I ever?"

"Hmm. Probably not."

"Okay, then. I'll see you March 18th."

"Yes."

"Great. Good. Okay, I've got to go. We'll talk when I see you, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye – actually, hang on –"

"What is it?"

"It's just...Well, it's just good to hear from you."

"I...yeah. Actually, it's good to hear from you too."

"See you, then."

"Yeah, see you."

"Bye –"

"Actually, hold it."

"Yeah?"

"I – you know, it doesn't matter. It's just...really good to hear from you. I kind of missed you."

"I kind of missed you too."

"Such a Seaweed Brain."

"Annabeth?"

"Yeah?"

"Actually, nothing. Just...yeah. Thanks for calling. I'm just really glad you called. Really glad."

"Yeah. Me too. Glad I called, I mean...God, we're such emotional retards."

"Excuse me?"

"I was joking!"

"If you say so."

"_Goodbye_ Seaweed Brain."

"Bye."

"You sure this time? Or you could just, you know, stay on the line. We could...talk, maybe."

"You know what? I'd like that."

"Me too. Like that –"

"You'd like that. I got it."

"Good. Great, I mean."

"Radical, perhaps?"

"Oh, ha – ha. Very funny."

_And then he leans over, raising his hand with the phone pressed to his shoulder, pressing firmly on the button on the holster before he hears a satisfied beep._

_"First message erased."_

"What was that?"

"You know what? It doesn't matter." _He smiles to himself and he nods. He's too happy to hear her voice in his ear once more to even care, anymore. _"It really, _really_ doesn't matter."

**A/N: Take that, Prachel.**


	15. Lost At Sea

**Wow. I updated. Three updates in less than three weeks (I think that's right). It's almost like I've had a personality transplant. Oh my god, Kronos has taken over my body too. Note to self: Watch out for blue hairbrushes.**

**This is a sad little angsty oneshot. I've wanted to write an angsty Annabeth in BOTL one for ages, but never had the inspiration. And then I read this article, and it talked about this guy being lost at sea, and then inspiration hit me. And I forgot my homework and wrote this. (One day, my teacher will thank me. That day is not today).**

**It begins with Sally, on a beach, with Percy as a baby. And then the parallels are drawn to another young woman, who's is just as lost as the first - perhaps not lost at sea, but lost _in_ the sea...**

_**Song choice: Lake Eerie Rainfall by Jim Brickman **_

**_- or - _**

**_Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright (I'm not fighting over whose is the best version again. Just take a pick and stick with it.)_**

* * *

Lost At Sea

_"Hey, little baby. What, are you looking at me?"_

_The baby blinks up at her. They hadn't understood, at the hospital, how he had been born with such green, green eyes. She'd read somewhere that all babies were born with blue eyes, but she'd known, in her heart, that this would be no blue eyed baby boy. His eyes would be green. Sea green._

_"What are you looking for?" She frowns, rubbing his cheek softly. "What? What do you want?"_

_Of course, there's no answer. She runs her hand through the tufts of black hair and smiles. She knows that hair. She knows those eyes, too, but she won't say so out loud. She swore she wouldn't say it again. She can't remember why. To hurt him? Maybe. How do you hurt a god? To lock it all away? Yes, that was the more likely. She's good at that. Sally Jackson, Secret Keeper. And then she comes here, to Montauk, to wash it all away. She doesn't dwell on her thoughts. She either writes them down, or whispers them to the sea. It's safe there. _

_But she remembers the story. She remembers some old tale (probably Greek. Oh, the irony) about a man who whispered his secret to the grass, and then the grass begin to whisper it back. Soon, everyone knew. The grass had told everyone, and the secret was no longer kept safe._

_Now, that was frightening thought._

_"Are you looking for someone, hon? Is there someone missing?" _

_She glances away towards the ocean, leaving her hand at his cheek. Just in case. She isn't letting him go. She's let too many people go, over the years. Her mom, her dad. She hadn't even known them – she'd been too young, far too young to get to build some kind of relationship. Her uncle, though that hadn't been the most painful. Well, yes, it had hurt. It had been strange, she remembers, to see him so weak. He'd always been so strong. Strong and scary, like a monster. That's what she'd used to say. For a moment, she looks down at the baby beside her, and she gets this instinct to grab him and run, as if her uncle's stood over her shoulder again. He isn't, of course. They're all alone. _

_"Where's your daddy, babe?" she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Where's daddy? Show me."_

_She can almost swear he looks out towards the sea when she says that. Or maybe she's just imagining things. Again. _

_Sometimes she pretends that he's coming back. She knows, in her heart, that he isn't, but it's nice to think that. She kind of understands why people believe in a god like that. Because it's a big and scary world out there, and it's nice to know there's someone who's looking down over you. It's nice to know that, when you die, they'll be something there, because it's too scary to try and get your head around it all ending at some point. _

_She doesn't believe anymore. She doesn't believe in miracles. She doesn't believe in God anymore. She misses him, but she doesn't believe in him. _

_"Daddy's not here anymore, babe." She runs her toe along the sand, tracing absent patterns that mean nothing and say everything. "He's gone. He's not coming back. He didn't want to leave, honey, but he had to, in the end. You know how when the sea rolls in, and then a few hours later it rolls away again? Well, Daddy's like the tide. Only, this tide's not coming back. Do you – do you understand?" _

_Does she? _

_"He's lost at sea. That's where he is." She likes that thought. Well, she doesn't like it. But she pauses, bringing her legs to her chest and rocking backwards and forwards. For a moment, she feels about twelve years old, and she's allowed to cry if she's young. "Lost at sea. So, it's just you and me. But that's okay. We can do this, right? We can make it. We'll find a way. You'll be my little hero, won't you?"_

_And then he's crying, too, and she brings him to her, holding him close and pressing her kiss to his forehead. _

_"Hey. Hey, now. Don't cry, little baby. No more tears. We're at the sea, remember? We like the sea. The sea's okay. The sea's a safe place for you and me. We've got each other, right? You and me. We're not alone."_

_His green eyes meet hers, and she shakes her head. _

_"Okay, maybe we are a little alone. Just a little bit. But alone – alone isn't...it isn't bad. We can do okay alone. I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. You're not going anywhere, are you? Don't ever leave me alone, will you?"_

_The child's cries die away a little, until all there is a tiny sniffling noise. She frowns, and for a moment she thinks that he might know what she's talking about. But there's something in those green eyes that scares her and brings back memories, and so she crushes him gently to her chest so she doesn't have to meet them._

_And when she speaks again, she's looking out at the sea, holding his child in her arms and crying her tears for him. _

_"Don't leave me." She doesn't even stop the tears. "Don't do this to me. Don't leave me here. Alone. Alone, again."_

_----_

_Fourteen years later, there's another young woman sat in the sand, looking out at the sea. It's a different beach, it's a different girl. She's younger, and there is no baby beside her. There's no-one there at all. There's just one lit candle. She has blonde hair, not brown, and her eyes are _always_ grey. But it's the same time of day. The sun is setting again. The tide is rolling away once more. And there's that same inexplicable sadness, hanging in the air._

_"You know, they think I'm crazy coming out here," she says, and she gives a watery chuckle, though she doesn't find it particularly funny. "They all look at me like I'm going mad. They don't say anything. I think they pity me. Poor Annabeth, running off to the ocean again. Her best friend is missing, you know. He's gone and got himself blown up, and where was she? Running away. Running away as her best friend met his death. Isn't that where she always is?"_

_She shudders, wrapping her blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Hey, Percy. How are you today? Had a nice day, wherever you are?"_

_She traces a word into the sand. It takes a minute to write, a second to brush away. _

_"They're burning your shroud tomorrow. Did you know that? They've all given up hope. Two weeks, and they think it's over. There's this kind of coldness in camp. No-one seems to laugh anymore." She frowns. "Well, maybe they do. It's just that I don't see them. I don't see much. I keep to the cabin, or I come out here. I hate dinner. Everyone's always looking at me. So I eat in my cabin. I think I told you that yesterday – or it might have been the day before. Remember?"  
_

_She untangles a knot from her curly blonde hair, throwing it over her shoulder lightly. She's never found solace in the sea before now. She never used to get why he'd come here, to find his way. It's always too open, too desolate for her liking. There's nothing complex. Just sea, sand, sky. Only now does she see the appeal. The simplicity is oddly soothing. _

_Painful, though. But it's the only place she finds him, and so she can't help but be drawn to the sea shore._

_"You know, Seaweed Brain, you're a lot easier to talk to when you're not here," she says matter-of-factly, pulling at the threads of her threadbare cardigan. "It's quieter. My head hurts a lot less."_

_She lifts some sand from the ground between her fingers and lets it fly away into the breeze, scattering itself across the landscape. She watches as they fly, and when she talks her eyes are still upon the grains of sand as they blow away._

_"When are you coming back?"  
_

_Silence. _

_"Seaweed Brain? When are you coming back? I know you are. I'm not stupid. It'd be better if you could make it before they burn the damn shroud. I told them they shouldn't bother, that you're going to come back, but they don't believe me. It's a nice shroud; it'd be a shame to burn it. It'd look nice on the wall."_

_The wind picks up, and she feels her hair brush against her cold skin. She shivers. The sun is falling._

_"I miss you," she whispers, and it's like sun has gone in completely. "I don't know where you are. Every day they ask me, and I kid myself and I say I know. I don't know. I really don't. Sometimes I think that you've...you know, moved on. And that you're in Elysium, and you're happy, and I'm sick with worry for nothing. That I'm...well, crying myself to sleep, for nothing._

_"You know, the thing that hurts most is that this is the third time." She starts to laugh – a shaky laugh, and a tear rolls down her cheek. "The third time. Oh my gods, I'm like some wretched – oh, I don't know. A curse, or something."_

_She shudders again. She's hungry, and she's tired. The sun is slowly leaving. She's getting colder._

_"You know, I swear that when you come back, I am so running you through with this god damn knife. You've driven me crazy. I'm talking to a person who's not even there. I'm sat, on a beach, freezing my ass off even though its __**summer**__, and it's __**sunny**__. And you –" She points out her finger at the sea accusingly, though she doesn't know where the Hades she's supposed to be pointing. "You're his dad. Why aren't you looking for him? Where is he? Lost at sea? Then why aren't you tearing apart the oceans to find him? Hmm? Or am I the only one in this whole world who's tearing their hair out, worrying about him? Is it just me? Is it some big prank? Oh, this'll be fun, let's drive Annabeth to the verge of insanity. That'll be fun. Well, it isn't, you know. It's not fun at all. You can watch all you want, gods, but you're not watching me fall. No way. You can throw whatever you want at me. I'm going to be fine. I'm going to find him. He's going to come back. And I am __**not**__ ending up alone. Again. You hear me?"_

_She draws a deep breath. Silence ensues, and she's so frustrated she launches the candle into the ocean in such a rage she doesn't even wince as her skin begins to throb where the flame has caught her thumb. And now she breaks down, and when she talks she's talking through great shuddering gasps, tears falling faster than the sun in the sky._

_"Don't do this to me!" she shouts, clenching her fists in the sand and calling out to the sea. "I miss you, god damn it! I need you, Percy Jackson, to get your butt back here right now. I don't care where you are. I need you __**here**__. I can't do this alone. I've never been able to do it on my own. Don't – don't leave me. You hear me? You can't leave me. You can't do this to me. Don't. Leave. Me. Alone."_

_And when he doesn't answer, she shakes her head, reaching one arm out to the sea as it recedes. _

_"Alone." It's a cold, bitter word, but the rush of the ocean cannot mask it. "Alone, again."_


	16. For Sale

****

There was a moment during an agonizing session of writers' block when an idea popped into my head. It isn't literary genius, nor is it a revelation or the best piece of story telling in the world. I was helping my mum clear out for a car boot, and suddenly had an idea. So I wrote it down. Just for times, when it all seems like it's gone wrong, and you wish you could just pack it all away and make it someone else's problem. And that's exactly what I think Annabeth would feel like doing.

**_Song choice: 'I Giorni' by Ludovico Einaudi_**

For Sale

* * *

_One heart. Over-used. Fraying at edges, due to constant string-tugging. Once treasured, now considered hindrance. Slightly damaged, due to vandalism (two names scrawled untidily into surface, causing owner constant distress and/or confusion). Requires owner who, unlike former proprietor, can stop item from running away with self. Lock and key included. Free to good home. Warning – prone to breaking._

* * *

_One best friend's best friend (at least that's what prospective buyers are supposed to believe). Worn condition - holes in jeans due to frequent spearing with marker pens. Comes with cage, to protect all best friends from unwanted attention. Perfect remedy to excessive self-belief and personal happiness (will reduce to pile of dust upon first meeting.) Occaisonally spends afternoon spent painted gold, for unexplained reasons. Proprietor will pay for item to be taken away._

* * *

_One friend, maybe more. Comes with heaps of emotional baggage. Warning: causes high stress levels, sleepless nights and regular shedding of tears. Comes as a set with earlier items. Limited edition, one of a kind. _

* * *

Lost

* * *

_One mind. Used to be proficient. Love took hold. Now lies in tatters in unknown location. Needed before seeker goes insane._

* * *

Wanted

* * *

_One Seaweed Brain. Original condition. Before it all got so, so complicated._

* * *


	17. Blackmail

**I was inspired by a scene in the Big Bang Theory for this one - where Penny blackmails Sheldon into throwing a birthday party by threatening him with the prospect of a tiny ink heart in an edition of one of his mint comic books. So I thought - hey. I feel fluff and comic consequences coming on. I wanted to write another really sad, tragic one again, just because I've always found them easier to write, but I thought I'd break it up a bit and throw this one. in.**

**It's fluffy, it's drabbly, it's completely devoid of a plot and it's kind of cliche, but I wanted to get it out of my system. This is Percy and Annabeth, older than they are in the books, being blackmailed by one another into facing their fears. It's a recipe for disaster - and, of course, Percabeth *smiles***

**_Song Choice - 'One Step Closer' by U2_**

* * *

Blackmail

"Percy, it's a plane."

"I got that part. That's the main reason _why _I'm not getting on it."

"I thought the reason you weren't going on it was because it goes up into the sky. Not because it was a plane. I mean, you wouldn't get on a flying wok if it was going up, would you?"

"A flying wok?!"

"There's nothing to be scared of, I promise. It's been - what? Six years? Seven? Zeus won't blast you out of the sky for a half hour journey, will he?"

He glances darkly up at the sky. "Wouldn't put it past him," he grumbles.

She sighs.

"Look, either you get on that plane, or so help me god, when we get back home I'm hiding the blue food colouring and dying everything bright pink."

He narrows his eyes at her. "You wouldn't."

"I would."

There's a pause. And then he stands up, marches towards the flight attendant and hands her his boarding pass.

"Oh goodie," he says under his breath, casting a furtive look to a smiling Annabeth stood behind him. "We're going on a plane."

* * *

"Annabeth, it's a spider."

"I got that part. But you have no idea what kind of spider. That could be eating away great chunks of your flesh as we speak."

"Don't you think I'd be aware of that? And how can it be dangerous? It couldn't poison me, it's not got those little glands on it you see on the Discovery Channel. All you have to do is hold it for thirty seconds. That's it."

She sticks out her bottom lip like a toddler. "No way. It could poison me, and then I'd die, and I haven't even written a will yet. What happens when inheritance tax becomes a problem, hmm? And FYI, I saw a guy, and he thought this spider was his pet and he kept it for like twenty years and it _still _killed him."

"That was in Australia, where the spiders are like the size of your face. This is like two centimetres big!"

"And? Size is no guarantee of power. Nico is tiny. He's pretty scary when he wants to be. And mosquitoes. They're tiny, but they can carry fatal diseases like malaria."  
"I won't tell Nico you just grouped him in the same category as a malaria-bearing mosquito."

"Good."

A plan starts to formulate, like the workings of a clock ticking away behind his brilliant green eyes. "Or maybe I will. Maybe I'll tell him you said he looked like one, too, just to put the cherry on top of the cake."

She looks outraged. "That's blackmail!"

"Yep."

She glares at him. "Damn you, Perseus Jackson." And she stretches out her hand, and he cups his hands over hers, sliding the spider inside.

"See, it's not that bad, is it? It's not dangerous at all."

She closes her eyes. "Let's hope it's not for your sake. Or you've just handed me a lethal weapon with which to reap my revenge."

* * *

"Percy, it's _me_."

"I got that part. That's what makes it seriously scary. Scarier than anything, actually."

"You're being ridiculous. You hear me? R-I-D – uh... Okay, I can't spell it. But you are being ridiculous. Whatever it is you have to tell me, I'm sure it's not that scary. You've faced Kronos himself, for the gods' sake. Whatever you have to say, say it. I'm sure I can take it. Unless..." She pauses. "You're not breaking up with me, are you?"

"No," he mumbles.

She looks at him seriously. "You don't sound very sure about that."

"I am. Very sure." He pauses. "It's the only thing I really am sure of."

She's glad that his head his bowed so he can't see her blush. "So, if you're sure about that, surely you can tell me...whatever you have to tell me?"

He stops and considers that.

"You promise you won't laugh?"

"Why would I do that?"

"That's not an answer."

She rolls her eyes, kneeling down and looking up at him, leaning on his knees. "Yes, I promise I won't laugh."

He pauses. And then he leans down, brushing her golden ringlets from her ear and whispering so softly she's almost not sure she really heard him say it.

"I love you."

And then he presses a kiss to her cheek, and slides from his seat so he's kneeling, too.

She can't stop him seeing her blush now. "Why was that so hard to say?"

"I've never said it before." He smiles begrudgingly. "I might say it again sometime."

She smiles. "And I didn't even have to blackmail you into doing it."

He stops, lost in thought. "That's true."

"We're growing up."

He grins. And then he kisses her, and by the time she's finished she's blushing as red as sunset.


	18. The Blossom Tree

**The inspiration for this came when I was out for the day in a beautiful little corner of the Lakes. And there was this tree, with a battered bench underneath it, and it had the most beautiful blossom clinging to it. And when I got home, for the first time I noticed this really beautiful line of trees in my village, and only one of them was covered in this gorgeous feathery blossom (there's a picture of it on my profile, actually). And I decided that I was going to write a fairy tale. **

**It's silly and cliche and entirely fluffy, but it's kind of different, too. I have to say that I quite like this one. It's not got too much Percabeth in, but it's got a little promise, a little hope at the end (and a joke about a troll. I think it's funny, anyway...) It's sweet. And of course, it makes me think of spring, which is a beautiful time of year. And I apologize from the little interludes - but they were fun to do. And I recommend these amazing songs. They're stunning. (****Note: 'Seasons' Quote - Dinah Maria Mulock. )**

**_Song Choice - "Fairground" by Jody Talbot_**

**_- or - _**

**_"Hoppipola Instrumental" by Anonymous _**

* * *

Blossom

"_**Autumn to winter, winter into spring, Spring into summer, summer into fall. So rolls the changing year, and so we change; Motion so swift, we know not that we move."**_

Once upon a time there was a girl with honey blonde hair and grey eyes, like storm clouds settling in the distant sky. She was lonely, and she was sad. And there was nothing she could do about it.

In the summer, she came back from a far off land covered in scrapes and bruises, cuts and grazes, gashes and wounds, from her head to her toe. She didn't talk to her father, or her step-mother (who was not wicked, contrary to other stories you may have heard. Well, perhaps she used to be. But we should all enjoy a second chance in life once in a while. Have you heard about Snow White? She gave the Wicked Witch a second chance, you know. They now enjoy Scrabble nights together. My goodness, you're behind the times). She didn't talk to her little brothers. She tugged her bags upstairs without a word and locked the door. And she simply sat up in her room, looking out of the window.

Summertime was beautiful that year. The sun shone, casting colours about the place, and the clouds vanished from sight. The neighbourhood children laughed outside, and people were talking and joking and drinking and singing. There was always music playing from somewhere, carried by the gentle breeze that swept about the busy streets. The flowers were in full bloom, and the sunsets threw glorious pinks and blues onto the horizon. But the girl stayed inside. She didn't want to go outside.

Her father would venture up into to her room, and ask her to come outside. But she would shake her head.

"What is there to see?" she would say. "Nothing."

And so she did not go outside, and she did not see the summer.. She stayed inside, lonely and sad, watching as the world turned without her.

In the fall, the trees began to slumber. A soft rustling sound of the fallen leaves in the gentle breeze blew about the place. The children dressed up in all sorts of weird and wonderful costumes, and they would fill their little buckets with candies and chocolates, lollipops and laces, sweeties and sugars from the houses next door. Everywhere was beautiful fiery shades of red or brown or green or orange, or all three. Candles were placed inside pumpkin heads, and when darkness fell all the houses lit up with the flickering of the candle-lit faces. But the girl stayed inside. She didn't want to go outside.

Her stepmother would venture up into her room and beg her to come outside. But she would, again, shake her head.

"What is there to see?" she would say. "Nothing."

And so she did not go outside, and she did not see the fall. She stayed inside, lonely and sad, watching as the world turned without her.

Winter arrived one morning, when the trees began to stand quiet and silent, making sharp silhouettes against the darkened sky. Lights lit up the windows, and the sound of sleigh bells rung in the air. Fine snowflakes tumbled down from the heavens, coating the pathways and delighting the families who slid with glee down the graceful white mounds. Snowmen stood, smiling from every corner, and the houses were warm with the firelight flickering in the hearths. But the girl stayed inside. She didn't want to go outside.

Her brothers would venture up into her room and implore her to come outside. But she would, again, shake her head.

"What is there to see?" she would say. "Nothing."

And so she did not go outside, and she did not see the winter. She stayed inside, lonely and sad, watching as the world turned without her.

But the springtime was different. There were a few days, as January elapsed, where nothing happened at all. It was as if the world had stopped turning all together. The warmth of the winter faded, but no-one left their houses. The street ground to a halt. And for a few days, there really _was _nothing to see.

The girl, who had been sat at her window for a long, long time, noticed the trees. They were unmoving. They were empty. There was no colour about them, and there was no life. She had grown fond of one particular tree, right outside her bedroom window. It seemed a very lonesome tree. All the other trees were pointed away from it, and it seemed smaller, somehow. She felt sorry for this tree. How sad it looked. How lonely.

And then one day, she awoke, and it was covered in blossom. Pale blossom, pastel blossom, woven about the branches like lyrics to a tune. She had never seen anything quite so beautiful. It made her heart ache. She hovered by the door to her room, her hand twisting about the doorknob. The girl wanted to see the blossom. It was so beautiful, so pure, that she wanted to reach out and touch it with her bare hands.

But she stopped herself. At the last minute, she stopped herself. She slammed shut the door and drew shut the curtains. And the blossom disappeared from sight.

While she was thinking about the poor little tree with the blossom scattered from branch to branch, her step-mother (who really wasn't wicked) and her father were talking about her. (They weren't being mean talking behind her back, of course. It's just that's what parents do when they're awfully worried about their child. Don't you know this? Everyone knows this. You should really get out more, you know.)

"What shall we do?" her father cried. "She doesn't leave the window. She looks out to the trees, but she never wants to see them. She says there is nothing to see. She wants to see them, I know it. But she won't leave her room!"

The step-mother frowned. (This doesn't mean she was evil, you cynic. It simply means she was contemplating something. Stop being so harsh on her, will you?) "But we can't make her, Frederick," she said sadly. "There's nothing we can do to make her want to go out and see the trees. If the beautiful blossom isn't enough, I'm afraid we will have to give up." She sighed.

Her father looked out to the trees. "What would make her go outside?" he wondered.

And then they looked at each other, and then they had an idea.

The girl woke up the next morning. She was drowsy, and it was still very early. The sun was creeping over the horizon. It was light, but only just, and she groaned. And then she got out of her bed, which was still cosy and warm, and moved over to the window, expecting to see what she had seen every other day for as long as she could remember. (Well, not as long as she could remember. She could remember a lot, you see. But she had gotten used to it. Oh, I give up. How can I tell a fairytale with a bunch of old cynics like you? Humph).

But something was different. Something was very different indeed.

She turned on her heel, and flung herself across the room, racing to pull a jumper over her head and put her glass slippers on. (Sorry. Habit. They were only Converse hi-tops. But glass slippers were much more poetic).

And then she threw open the door and thundered downstairs, leaping over piles of laundry and bits of Lego before she reached the front door. And she slid the key into the lock, pushed open the door and wandered out into the spring morning.

She approached the other side of the road, and she looked up at the trees. The blossom was as beautiful as the day before. She followed the branches lined with delicate pinks and whites, tracing their intricate patterns. She followed them down to the trunk of the tree. And then she followed that down, all the way down to the floor. And there, stood amongst the fallen blossom about the grassy floor, was a friend.

(Now for those who were expecting him to be a handsome prince, you were very, very wrong. Because this is America, and this is a republic. There are no monarchs. No principality, either absolute or otherwise. And I couldn't call him a handsome president, because that would just be silly. And he didn't look anything like Barack Obama. But he was handsome. That was true. Oh, don't scold me so. If you want cliché, go read something else. And let me get on with telling the story. It's nearly over now).

The girl with the honey blonde hair looked. She met the eyes of the handsome friend, and she looked some more. There was a moment when everything was quiet, and even the blossom was silent, if only for a brief interlude. And the world seemed to stop turning. It waited for the girl with the honey blonde hair, who had looked out at it for long by her windowsill. The world waited.

And then a smile crept across the side of the face of the girl with the honey blonde hair. It was a slow smile. Later on, she would say that it was as slow as spring itself. But she smiled, because all of a sudden she wasn't lonely anymore. She wasn't sad anymore. She glanced once up at the window, behind which she had lingered for so long. And for the first time in months, she felt the breeze upon her face; a breeze that had left her behind when she had sat alone in the room at the top of the house. A breeze she hadn't felt in months and months and months. The breeze blew a single petal of blossom, landing amongst the honey blonde hair.

And so she stayed, looking on into the eyes of a handsome friend she had missed so dearly for so long, until the blossom had gathered at her feet. And the girl with the honey blonde hair didn't move – too content in a moment she would remember for a very long time.

Years later, they would buy a house with a window and an elegant garden sprawling out into the back. There was draft in the upstairs windows and the stairs creaked and the kitchen was far too lofty. But to the girl with the honey blonde hair, it was perfect. Because stood outside, was a tall, beautiful blossom tree. And every year, at first blossom, she would wander out the blossom tree, and remember that day. And it was a very fond memory, I think you'll agree

And of course, the story wouldn't be complete without the fact that they did, indeed, live very happily ever after. (Well, after a while. She yelled at him a little first. Something about a red-headed troll. And then they had to fight a war. But then they lived happily ever after. I promise. No fingers crossed. Happily Ever After.)

The end.


	19. Listen

**TLO KIND OF SPOILERS! WARNING!**

**I've always thought the relationship between boys-who-are-friends (not boyfriends, you dingbats) is really, really cute. If there are any boy readers, you won't understand why girls find this dynamic quite so amusing, but we do. It's great fun to write about, and so I've decided to throw in some man-to-man conversations between Grover and Percy. Don't ask why, but this is Percy giving _Grover_ the advice - even though Percy's not exactly clued up in the romance department! **

**I'm just experimenting here. I'm trying out post-TLO characters to try and get to know them. This is just a bit of drabble, but I hope you like it anyway :)**

**_Song Choice - 'As Lovers Go' by Dashboard Confessional_**

* * *

Listen

"Grover, you look like you're ready to vomit."

He groaned. "I'm about one stage away from vomit. Give me a few minutes. Get a bucket. And then I'll be ready."

"Why?"

"Good question. Why? Why me?"

"What are you talking about?!"

Grover scuffed his fake foot along the dirt. "If a girl says something to you -"

"Which girl?"

Grover wrinkled up his nose, sniffing. "Doesn't matter _which _girl. Any girl." He stopped. "Okay. Specifically, a girl you _like_."

"What do you mean, like? I mean, I like my mom. I also like Jessica Alba, but in a completely different kind of way. So which like do you mean? Do you mean like, like? Or do you mean just like?"

"Percy," Grover said miserably, "this is like having a conversation with the Riddler."

"Okay. So a girl, who I like. And I'm guessing you mean more than just a friend."

Grover nodded. "Yeah. And say she says something to you –"

"What does she –"

Grover caught his eye.

"Right, sorry. No more questions. This girl says something to you. I'm following you. Go on."

"And she says something to you, and let's say what she says doesn't exactly concern you. Like, you have no idea who or what she is talking about, and you're sure that the information isn't exactly – y'know, _vital_. What do you do? Do you listen, or is it okay to just shut off?"

"Listen. Always listen."

Grover gaped at him.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked, looking at him incredulously. "You listen to every little detail they say?"

"Everything. Swear on my life."

Grover moaned, sitting down on the wall and putting his head in his hands morosely. "I'm dead. I'm deader than dead. I'm deader than the Kindly Ones, Percy. How do you _know_ these things?"

"You pick it up. From my experience, you should always, always listen to things girls say. Trust me."

"Always listen?"

"Always. Or you can bet that whatever they told you will come back and haunt you, or she'll ask you for an opinion and you'll have to provide an answer, or they'll be some indirect quiz later on, and you _will_ be questioned on every little detail of what she said. If you don't listen, you won't know what to say. It's actually a good idea to carry around recording equipment, just to make sure."

Grover glanced up at him. "Has this happened to you?"

"Yup. Hundreds, maybe thousands of times."

Grover sighed, tapping a little rhythm with his hooves along the concrete. "I guess you only learn from experience."

"Yeah. In my case, a _lot _of experience."

"What kind of experience?"

Percy grinned at him, giving his head a little shake. "Let's just say, G-man," he said, looking out to the sun over the New York skyline from his balcony, "that living with Annabeth is an experience in itself."

There was a the sound of a door creaking behind them. "Hey! I heard that!"

The two exchanged glances. Percy leaned in to mutter in Grover's ear, making sure that this time his remark would go completely unheard. "See?" he said, smiling wryly to himself. "Told you."


	20. Numbers

**What a week! Some rather worrying plagiarism, Michael Jackson... It's all been quite odd, to be honest, and I'm feeling a bit lost in not-quite-summer-but-nearly-summer blues. As for my lack of updates - blame writer's block, not me! Actually, I haven't even been cured, yet - I was, yet again, searching on my hard drive for _something_ that wasn't utter drivel to try and post in the absence of real inspiration; and I found this. I'd almost forgotten about it, to be quite honest. **

**It's just a short one; Percabeth-by-numbers, if you will. It's sweet, it's supposed to be quite tongue-in-cheek - and I hope you enjoy it. And forgive the ending - I had no idea how best to end the thing. Bon appetit, mes amies. **

_**- Virtual cookies to any attentive reader who can spot a line from a well known diary series – I want the name of the diary series, and I want to know which line in this story that's related. (Hint – it's also in the movie of the diary series!) - **_

**_Song choice: '1234' by Fiest_**

* * *

Numbers

One.

The number of times she tried to explain factorization to him. She realized it was a completely pointless exercise about fifteen minutes in, and gave it up as a bad job. He didn't blame her.

Two.

The number of cups of coffee it takes to wake her up in a morning. He finds this rather amusing to watch – the slow transgression from sleepy mindlessness into architectural mastermind. He once remarks to her that caffeine calms him down rather than wakes him up, and she looks at him quizzically. She understands a lot about this world. But some things she never does quite get. He is one of them.

Three.

The number of mega chocolate muffins they buy for every time they have a night in. One for her, one for him – and one to fight over by way of a Mario-Kart marathon. She usually wins the marathon. He never lets her know that he usually just lets her win, just so he can see her smile as reaches over for the final muffin. It's a worthwhile sacrifice.

Four.

The time in the morning he once called her, just to say hi.

Five.

The number of days in a week when he doesn't get to see her. They e-mail and talk on the phone, of course, but it's not quite the same. Her school has a strict policy about days the boarders are allowed out. He hates this. He was going to try and persuade her to come to Goode ('Goodeis good', after all), but when she started talking about the amazing architecture program at her new school, he dropped the idea. So he spends two days a week with her, soaking in every little bit of her, from the feel of her lips on his to the precise shade of grey of her eyes, and five days cursing the boarding school that keeps her from him with every curse word under the sun.

Six.

The number of times he can throw a grape up in the air and catch it in his mouth in a row. It's completely unrelated to the object of them as a couple, but he's really, really proud of it. And she thinks it's kind of funny to watch.

Seven.

The number of episodes of Heroes it takes for her to become completely obsessed. He has been begging her to start watching since forever, and now she feels she has no choice. And it is brilliant. Until one day she remarks that she thinks Peter Petrelli is hot, and he turns off the TV faster than you can say 'jealous, much?'

Eight.

The number of times she's glanced over at him and wondered what Percy would be like as a father. Not as a father to _herself, _of course (that would be a rather disgusting, Oedipus-like situation that she'd really rather avoid), but to potential off-spring. She's never thought herself as maternal before, but since they've been together, she's changed her mind. Eight times she's allowed herself the dangerously taboo thought about (whisper it) – getting _married _and having a _baby_. Okay, so maybe it's a few more times than just eight. But definitely less than twenty. No, thirty. Nothing more than forty, for sure. Oh, who is she kidding. She's thought of it so many times she's given up counting.

Nine.

The number of times he's wondered what the Hades she is thinking about when her eyes stray to the baby car-seats in the hardware store.

Ten.

The number of times old ladies have come up to them in the street and let them know how cute a couple they make. Actually, it was the same old lady ten times who may have a small problem with forgetting things, but it's flattering all the same.

Eleven.

The number of seconds she can remain under the water for, before resurfacing, gasping for air. He is horrified when he sees her doing this, and pulls her from the water in a blind panic. She is about to ask him what he is doing as he pulls her to shore, but she sees how pale he is, how worried he looks, and drops the subject. She's scared him. For a moment there, he thought he'd lost her. Needless to say, she has never done it since.

Twelve.

The number of months it takes him before he can finally muster up the courage to say _those three words_. He had been trying to get it out for about six months prior to the event, but it had always ended up sounding like he was close to vomiting, and instead of smiling and saying it back, she'd passed him a bucket. But when he does say it, she goes a bit quiet. And then her face breaks into this grin, and there's this odd, wonderful moment, like when you've finally worked out the name of the song you've had in your head for a week, or when you've finally finished the sudoku puzzle after hours of fruitless guesswork, when all she does is smile. She can't help it. Knowing that you are in love- and being loved in return - is quite a profound sort of circumstance. And one, she's sure, that she'll re-live _countless_ times.


	21. The Jetty

**No-one got the diary reference in the last chapter! Ah, well. It was the bit about being a father, and about Oedipus, from _Bridget Jones' Diary - _maybe next time, eh?**

**It seems this particular chapter has been with me for months, but I've only just found something with which to end it with. I first thought up the idea when watching 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' (which, honestly, was one of the most amazing films I've ever seen. I never thought it would be my type of film, but I'm telling you - that movie is one of a kind. It's beautiful). **

**Anyway, there's these scenes in the film set by Lake Pontchartrain, and I just remember thinking that the colours at this jetty were just sensational. And then I thought of this; this is Percy and Annabeth, written in the second person (a bit of an adventure for me, I admit), after the war. It's more metaphorical than it is literal, and it's supposed to be quite deep. Hope it gives you something to think about, anyway. Thanks to Sal for looking over this, though it seems so long ago, now!**

_**Song choice: **__**'I giorni' by Ludovico Einaudi**_

_**- or - **_

_**'Sunrise on Lake Pontchartrain' by Alexandre Desplat**_

* * *

The Jetty

_When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.  
-- Lao Tzu_

There's a jetty out by the sea, somewhere. It doesn't really matter where; perhaps it used to matter, or perhaps was intended to matter to someone. It doesn't matter anymore. All that matters, now, is that there is a jetty, and it is by the sea.

You sit out at this little jetty by the sea, occasionally. There isn't one particular day when you plan to come down here. Most of the time, you sort of end up there and simply find yourself with the sea spray in your face, not too sure why you're there at all. But the point is that you _are_ there, very much there, and you won't be leaving for an hour or so at least.

She watches you, sat on the deckchair on that jetty by the sea, day after day, until one day she can take it no longer. She approaches you cautiously, hesitantly, but you hear the soft creaks of the floorboards under her feet and smile. And when she places her hand on your shoulder, your hand is already there to catch it.

She enquires as to how long you have been sat out here. You shrug. An hour maybe, or two. She rolls her eyes, but you either don't see or ignore the gesture, choosing to look down the jetty to the colours rising up above the horizon. The colours alone are enough to want to make you stay for a day, or a year, or an entire lifetime. It doesn't really matter either way.

She remarks that you cannot possibly stay out here forever, but whether it's annoyance or amusement or both - or neither - you can hear in her voice, you don't know. You just nod. You're not really listening.

She sighs and sits down on the arm of the chair next to you. The end of the jetty is yards away.

She wants to know why you never go down that far. Why you sit back here. You mumble something about being able to see the colours better. She points out that if you were on the end of the jetty, you'd almost be able to touch the colours. And that's a worthwhile thought indeed, and you ponder it for a while, feeling her thoughtful gaze upon you.

She pauses. She wants to know if you miss them – the ones you lost, whose colours faded and no longer shine. Too many losses. And she doesn't have to hear an answer to know that you do. She sees the pain in your face. It's in hers, too. You sit in silence, and it's only broken when you hear a gasp as a tear rolls down her cheek.

You don't try and stop her. You squeeze her hand and press her kiss to her forearm. And she smiles at that, brushing the tear from her cheek.

She says that she's glad you're here with her. You know that she isn't saying that lightly, and the sincerity in her eyes tells you that she means something more in that, too. She knows that you almost weren't. She knows. She knows the price you paid to be here. What you gave up. Immortality, they'd offered. Power. Divinity. An irresistible offer, under normal circumstances. The ultimate gift, the gift philosophers and adventurers and heroes have yearned for – oh, you don't know, For eternities. And you turned it down. You said no.

She doesn't understand that. Not yet, anyway. You don't know how quite to tell her. It won't be easy. She probably won't understand then, either. But you will tell her. And you will let her know quite how important she is. But for now, you're simply at a jetty.

You sit together a little longer, watching as the morning birds venture out onto the water and begin to chatter animatedly between themselves. You don't really watch them. You're not too sure what you're watching. But the point is that you are watching – you're waiting for _something_, even if you're not too sure what it is yet.

It is some time until you notice she is no longer sat beside you. You blink, looking around for her, until you see her figure stood at the end of the jetty, as a silhouette against the colours of the dawn. You frown, but you don't call out for her. You wait and see what she will do.

She glances back at you quickly. You're not sure whether she's just checking you're watching, or if she's reassuring herself that you really are there. And then, without a moment's hesitation, she turns and jumps from the end of the jetty.

You stand as she hits the surface, ripples cascading from the point of entry, watching as she submerges and vanishes from view.

And then you wait. You wait to see what she will do.

You call out to her as she re-surfaces. You ask what she's doing. It is, after all, dawn, and the ocean is freezing, beyond cold. She could catch a death, as your mother would say.

She replies simply. She's letting go.

You pause, and ponder that for a moment.

Inadvertently, you glance back at the chair you were sitting on only moments before. Only now do you see how you have been sitting in the shadow of the trees behind - in the darkness, only looking out at the world beyond the chair and never going further. You've been sitting, thinking only of what is; what has been and what is. The darkness – the lives lost and the darkened days, where the sound of the dying and the quiet of the dead were ringing in your ears. And the dreadful moment when you would see the light leave their eyes, and all would be lost.

You have to let go, too. You've got to get out of this grief – the endless, haunting grief. You've got to _break out. _You've got to live again. You've sat in the shadows too long, and it's time to step out. It's time, as she put it, to let go.

You don't walk calmly to the end of the jetty, as she has done only moments before. You glance once to the trees across the other side of the sea, and you start to run.

Faster – faster- and then higher, through the air as you jump – and then in, breaking the surface and plunging down into the cold sea below –

You push yourself to the surface. And she's waiting. Of course, she's waiting. She smiles, hesitantly. And for the first time in weeks, in months, you smile back.

And at dawn, at the jetty that is somewhere, but not anywhere; that is to someone everything, but to another nothing at all; and on a day that is, but is not really, you let go.


	22. The Sex Talk

**You know, when I started out as a writer on this site, there would be days where I'd sit and dream of having someone else actually sit down, take the time and review a story of mine. At the time it sounded like a distant dream - but now, when I'm sitting here, looking at this story, wondering how on earth I managed to get over 500 reviews, it makes me happier than you can possibly know. You guys are the best - never, ever forget that. **

**Ah, inspiration strikes me like Zeus on a bad day! After the rather deep and meaningful previous chapter (which I recieved some lovely reviews for, which made my day - thank you for that!), I decided to go a bit tongue in cheek with this one and have some fun. It's a little risque, I'll warn you - nothing sordid, don't worry, but for the younger or the more innocent-minded of the readers, I'll let you know that there is reference to sexual experience in this story - well, it's about the Sex Talk, after all. You have been warned - don't blame me if your mother doesn't approve of this one! Thanks, again, to Sal, who is a legend. The ending wouldn't have been there without you!**

**And I'll shut up now - right after going AAAAAAH like a crazy fangirl, because of the trailer. Yes, the PJO trailer! I loved the bit with the hood so much, I may write a oneshot on it. **

**_Song choice - 'Sex On Fire' by Kings of Leon (_ha-ha, couldn't resist - sorry!_)_**

* * *

The Talk

"Chase Residence, Frederick speaking."

"Hi, dad, it's Annabeth."

"Oh, hello, dear." Her father's voice sounded cheery and warm, and she could hear the distant sound of her step-brothers in the background. "Everything alright? How's life in New York?"

She smiled to herself, glancing down down. Her I Love NY t-shirt. Her miniature Statue of Liberty pen. Her New York bagel on the plate in front of her. Living in New York had had an odd effect on her, there was no doubt about it. She glanced out of the window, where the lights of the city shone on, blurred by as the raindrops trickled down the apartment window to Percy's room.

Messy as it always was, she'd come to like Percy's bedroom. It was blue, of course, like everything else in the Jacksons' house – small, too, but with great views across the city, a comfortable bed (that she swore to Ms Jackson she'd only ever sat on, much to the woman's amusement) and a kind of familiar clutter that could, really, only belong to a Seaweed Brain.

"Well, it's raining right now, but otherwise, it's great."

"And school? No problems there?"

Her eyes flickered from the school blazer over the in the corner, before grimacing down at the half-written history essay in front of her. "Ah, it's okay. It's...y'know, school. Trying to get my history work done, it's taking ages."

"Need any help?" There was a pause. "And what number are you calling on, I don't recognize it."

Annabeth yawned. "I'm at Percy's, he said I could borrow his laptop since the school computers are really slow. He'll be back any second, actually, and I shouldn't really be running up his phone bill." This thought had only just occured to her, but she dismissed it. Ah, well. He still owed her for the...uh...

Well. She was pretty sure he still owed her for something, anyway.

"I'm assuming he's well?"

She blushed in spite of herself. "He's fine, thanks, Dad."

Her father chuckled down the phone, before adding quickly, "Still together then?"

"Of course!"

"Alright, dear, I was only asking." He sounded amused. "So what are you calling me for?"

She pouted. "Does a daughter need a reason to call her father once in a while?"

"So you called just to chat to your dear old dad, did you?

She bit her lip. "Well, no..."

Dr Chase laughed. In the background, the sound of smashing glass and an operatic voice warbled down the receiver. She winced.

"Okay, okay," she said, taking a sip from the cup in front of her. "I wanted to ask your permission for something."

"Go ahead, dear."

"I want to go on a vacation."

A pause. "Is that it?"

"Uh, not quite. With Percy."

A longer pause. "Oh."

She twisted the cuff of her jacket in one hand. "It's just these cabins in Montauk out on Long Island by the beach – his family have been going there for years, and he's invited me to come out there for a week with him once the semester's over. I wouldn't miss school, or anything," she added, crossing her fingers under the desk.

He sighed. "I'm not sure, Annabeth..."

"And why's that?"

"Well, it's just..."

"If you're worried about monsters, Dad, Percy and I are more than capable with dealing with _any _attacks –"

"It's not monsters I'm worried about, dear..." Her father's voice trailed off. She frowned.

"Then what is it?"

An uncomfortable silence crackled down the phone line.

"Well..." began Dr Chase - and then he hesitated, as if he were choosing the right words. "You see, dear...Well, as your father, I feel that...um..."

She sighed. As fond as she was of her father, he did have a rather irritating knack of waffling on before getting to the point of the matter. "Cut to the chase, dad."

"Sweetheart, you're –" Dr Chase stopped, and then he burst out laughing. "Oh ho! I just got that! Cut to the _chase_ – ha-ha, that's funny! Do you get it dear – Chase –"

"Dad."

"Sorry,dear. No, what I was going to say was that you're at an age where you're in what's fast becoming a serious relationship, and it wouldn't be... uncommon for you to be wanting to – ah, take your relationship to the next level."

"The next level...?" She finished off the last of her Diet Coke.

"You know." Her father's voice dropped, and he replied in a rather carrying stage whisper: "Sexually."

She dropped the coke glass.

"_Dad!_"

Three thousand miles away, her father burst out laughing.

"This is not funny!" she hissed into the receiver. "I'm not – we're not – stop laughing, Dad, this is really _not _something to laugh about!"

"Was that not your intention on this trip?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed, horrified. "Percy's mom and Paul are coming too, you know!"

Her father sounded doubtful. "In the same cabin?"

"Well, no, but..." She shook her head, scrambling to pick up the remains of the glass before throwing them hastily in the waste paper basket. "I can't believe you even considered that I would – that I'd be thinking about – don't you _trust _me?"

"Hormones are not things to be trusted, dear."

She felt a momentary urge to vomit.

"I didn't mean to offend you, sweetheart. Nor Percy, for that matter...but all I'm saying is that it's well known that when you hit puberty you get certain urges –"

"Oh my gods, I cannot _believe _you used that word." She shuddered, and glanced at the clock. "Dad, I'm going to have to wrap this up – if Percy comes back and hears this conversation I'll never be able to look him in the eye–"

" – that sometimes are difficult to control! Teenage boys in particular often have heightened libidos once they've reached puberty, and therefore –"

She frowned.

"Wait a second. What did you say?"

"Hormones are difficult to control?" he suggested.

She shook her head. "No, no. After that."

"Teenage boys often have heightened libidos once they've hit puberty?"

Annabeth scowled, hastily throwing a jacket over the waste paper basket in the vain hope that Percy wouldn't be needing the bin anytime soon. She'd buy him a new glass. "What the Hades is a libido? It sounds like one of these you inflate and lie on in a swimming pool."

Her father made a noise like a strangled cat down the telephone. "You can do one of those _Google_ searches on it, dear, I'm not going into it now."

"Hang on, then, I'm just typing it in – define: l-i-b-e-e –"

Her father interrupted: "L-i-b-i-d-o, dear."

"Okay. Hmmm, search." She paused, scrolling down to examine the search results. "_Pscyhoanalysis – a Freudian term for sexual urge or desire – _Dad!" She recoiled in horror. "I cannot believe you just discussed my boyfriend's – that's _disgusting_!"

"It's about time you were away of these things, Annabeth, so you can't blame me for bringing them up in conversation," he chided, sounding somewhat offended. "Have you not discussed these sorts of things with Percy?"

"No! We've been going out for eight months, Dad! I'm seventeen years old, I'm not looking for anything like that!"

"It's technically legal," Dr Chase said meekly.

Annabeth pulled a face, feeling as if her skin was crawling. "Are you trying to convince me into sleeping with my boyfriend?!" she demanded.

"Not at all! I just feel that, before you go on a trip like this, you should sit down and make a bullet-point list of things you would feel comfortable doing with one another - for example, starter activites, such as -"

"Don't you _dare _start giving me _tips!_"

"I'm trying to help! As I was saying, things you'd feel comfortable doing and any particular boundaries you want to make just in case during a trip like this you begin thinking about –"

"Dad," she growled into the phone. "For. The. Last. Time. I have absolutely _no _plans regarding having _sex with Percy on this freaking trip_!"

"What?!"

She turned to the face the door. A rather bemused looking Percy stood in the doorway in his school uniform, his eyebrows raised so high they were practically in orbit.

There was a rather awkward silence.

"Dad." Her voice sounded a little hoarse. "I'll call you back."

She paused.

"Actually – I've got an idea. Wait a sec."

She turned to Percy.

"Seaweed Brain." She smiled. "It really would be appreciated if you could _please _explain to my father that you have no intention of jumping me and/or embarking upon a sexual relationship with me at any point whilst in Montauk next month."

He opened his mouth as if making to speak, then stopped. She stood, pressing the phone into his hand and kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Good luck, Seaweed Brain."

He took the seat she had vacated with the air of someone not too sure how they got there. She wondered if this was the kind of shock that car-crash victims went through.

"I – uh." He coughed once. "Dr Chase."

She grinned at him, leaving him alone with the phone as she sidled out of the room. Then, when she was sure she was out of sight, she snatched up her coat and school-bag, and ran for her life.


	23. Retail Therapy

**As inspiration is a wild and unpredictable fiend, inspiration for this chapter struck me right when it shouldn't have - when I really should've been writing another chapter for my new story ('Click'). I'm not plugging, don't worry! Anyway, I was shopping for my brother, who like all teenage boys has the most irregular growth spurts known to man, and I thought - bam, what if Percy dragged Annabeth shopping? Yes, it's a bit backwards and silly, but it came so easily to write - it's great fun.**

**I should apologize in advance for the fan-girl-esque description of Percy 'sans' shirt in this chapter...It's just a scene for the girls (and any guys who think Percy's hot, too). Sorry! I couldn't resist. Also - kudos and virtual Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream to the reader who first spots the familiar, yet forgotten (and I think underused) character lurking in this chapter...just for fun!**

**Hoping you're all having a good summer...mine's been lousy so far, but should pick up soon...**

**_Song Choice - 'Mercy' by Duffy_**

**_- or - _**

**_'Vogue' by Madonna_**

* * *

Retail Therapy

She gets the call at about eight o'clock in the morning. She's spaced out and drowsy, and so when he tells her why he's calling at this ungodly hour on a Saturday, she has to get him to repeat it a couple of times.

"Shopping, Seaweed Brain?"

"Shopping. I need your help. Really, I do. I have absolutely no idea _how _to shop, and you're the only one who can save me."

She groans. "And what makes you think I'd be so good at shopping?"

"You're a _girl_. That gives you like a ten point advantage."

She wants to argue, but she can't be bothered. So she agrees to come shopping with him - on the condition he buys lunch _and _dinner and never ever disturbs her before ten on a Saturday ever again.

"You're on," he says, and hangs up.

* * *

When he picks her up outside her school boarding house in Paul's (new) Prius, she's surprised to see that he has an actual shopping list.

"You're _never _this organized," she remarks, peering at the lengthy bit of paper. "What changed?"

He shrugs. "My mom wrote the list. I've just got to stick to it."

She reads it slowly, making a mental note of all the things they've got to get today. As it turns out, it seems he's grown out of _everything_ - sweaters, t-shirts, jeans, swim-wear, sweat-pants, underwear (she cackles at this, as he rolls his eyes and goes on about how mature she _isn't_) - and even a tux, for crying out loud. "Why do you need a tux?" she asks, wrinkling up her forehead.

"For my mom and Paul's wedding-vow-re-do-thing," he says with a yawn.

"What wedding-vow-re-do-thing?"

He frowns. "They're - what's the word? _Re-affirming _their vows, I think in some ceremony thing. You want to come to that, by the way?"

"When is it?"

He thinks for a moment. "In two days' time."

She rolls her eyes. "When exactly were you planning on asking me?"

"I think my mom told me to ask you about five weeks ago, but I just forgot."

"How d'you forget something like that?!"

"Hmm…" He thinks long and hard about that one. "How about…every time I saw you, you were just so beautiful that I forgot everything else in the world?"

"Suck up."

She blushes anyway.

* * *

The first thing they look for is jeans.

"Every store has jeans," she re-assures him, "So they'll be the easiest thing to find."

As it turns out, they're not. Men's jeans sizes, she decides, are retarded, and once they've spent a good twenty minutes figuring out exactly what size Percy is, they then have to choose which style he wants. Straight leg, slouchy fit, skinny, flared ("Oh, very seventies,"), boot-cut, low waist - the possibilities really are endless.

"Why can't they pick one style and stick with it?" he grumbles, glaring down at an inky-blue number.

"Because then the more fashion conscious men would complain about the lack of variety," she says reasonably.

He scowls. "Who do _you _know who cares whether their jeans are slouchy fit or not?"

"Grover does."

Percy gapes at her.

"What?!"

"Really. He's partial to a high-waisted flare, I believe."

He laughs about that for the next half hour.

* * *

"Next up…t-shirts."

He grins. "Easy."

"What do you mean, _easy_?" she says sceptically, raising an eyebrow. He says nothing, simply smiling, and he leads her on down the street to a store she's never seen before. The outside is loud and splattered with paint, and the inside isn't much better.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

They go right to the back of the store, and she can't help but stop and blink for a couple of seconds. The biggest collection of t-shirts are piled high at the walls; thousands and thousands of colours, patterns and textures, stacked one on top of another before her very eyes.

There are plain, designer, long-sleeved, short-sleeved, striped, hooded, v-neck, spotted - and her personal favourite, the slogan tees, each emblazoned with an amusing joke or motif (most of which are kind of inappropriate, but some are just funny).

"What do you think?" he asks, holding up a blue shirt for her to see. The caption reads _just add water_.

"Hmm." She narrow her eyes. "No, I prefer _this _one…" She hands him a green number, which across the front reads: _My boyfriend's out of town. _

He pouts, producing another in rebuttal. _I lost my teddy bear, _it says, _can I sleep with you?_

She sticks her tongue out, and pulls out the ace in her pack. _Douche-bags need not apply. _

* * *

It amazes her how much he actually listens to her - he takes in everything, from the way she bits her lip when she's not sure, or the way her face lights up when he chooses something really great. He trusts her opinion - like when she says one rather tight jumper makes him look a bit like a beanpole, or when she comments on how great he looks in green. She's not quite sure what to make of this undivided attention - but she's certainly not complaining.

* * *

When they're browsing through the underwear section, he looks troubled. "I've never got that," he says.

"Got what?"

He gestures (somewhat hesitantly) in the direction of the women's lingerie. "Why women see the need to wear…fancy underwear and stuff. I mean, unless you're Superman, you'll be wearing it _under _your clothes, so who's going to see it?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's that whole inner-beauty stuff."

"Inner beauty…like the stuff they talk about in Disney movies? About being beautiful on the inside and not on the outside?"

She nods and says, "Sure."

"So Disney endorses sexy lingerie?"

She's never thought about it like that. "I guess so."

They look at each other, then fall about laughing.

"Okay, okay, laughing and joking isn't going to get this job done," she says, trying to regain her composure. "We need to get you some underwear…so. The Big Question. Boxers or briefs?"

He smirks to himself, but says nothing,

"Oh, come on!" She finds herself smiling too. "We've got to get this done! You were accusing _me _of being immature before, so can we please just grow up and answer the question?"

"I don't see why you knowing is necessary in this situa - ah, what are you doing?!"

She's snatched at the waistband of his jeans, trying to check for herself. He snakes his arm around her waist, bringing her to him. She pouts.

"Seaweed Brain, just tell me…" she whines.

"Nope."

She bats her eyelids.

"That's not going to work."

She sighs, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours…"

His eyes widen.

"You've got yourself a very weird deal."

* * *

They stop for lunch at one, the heavy weight of the shopping bags pulling at their arms. They eat sushi, and have fun playing with the chopsticks and sampling exotic dishes, pulling faces and laughing until tears roll down their faces. About half an hour in, he spots a girl in the corner of the restaurant that he seems to know, and he tries to hide himself. She doesn't recognize the girl, who has vivid red hair and a face covered in a thousand freckles and talks way too loud and brashly for Annabeth's liking. She asks him how he knows this girl, and he says something about asking Grover or Chiron.

She realises there's still so much more she doesn't know about him, even now, after everything they've been through. She finds out, over lunch, that is favourite show is _Heroes _("Or at least before it got really crappy last season,"); that he knows all the words to _Bohemian Rhapsody_; that he can twist his tongue into the shape of a shamrock, and that his middle name is Alex, after his mom's childhood best friend.

She likes the fact that she doesn't know him inside out yet. It's weird, but she likes the feeling that they've got so much left to share with one another. It gives her something to look forward to.

* * *

"Where's the swim-wear section in here?" she wonders aloud. He gestures to the left hand side of the store, and they begin the search, spending fifteen minutes looking at all the different patterns.

"We could get you a Speedo."

"Hmm, how about…_never as long as I live_?" he suggests.

He finds a pair he deems acceptable, and goes to try them on. She waits outside, until she hears him call, "Wise Girl?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in here a sec?"

She gapes. "What?! No! That's the men's!"

"So?"

"So it's full of men and all things disgusting and manly!"

"There's no-one on duty or anything. Come on, just come here a minute, I need your help."

Glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder, she slips into the men's changing rooms and furtively looks around. "Okay, which one are you in?"

"Third on the right."

She waits outside. "What do you need me for?"

"Oh, don't be such a chicken, come in - I'm not naked or anything."

"Well, when you put it that way…"

She pulls back the curtain an inch. "What?"

He's stood in front of the mirror, looking with a frown at his reflection. "Do you think I need the next size up?"

"Well, I -"

She means to answer, and then for the first time she realises that he's not wearing anything from the waist up. She blushes scarlet - only now does it occur to her that, in five years of knowing him, she's never once seen him without a top on. "I - uh…"

His skin is tan and smooth, and the muscle definition across his abs from years of monster-baiting and fierce camp-training makes her blush even further. His arms are muscular, and toned, and the shorts hang at his hips with ease. She clears her throat.

He catches her looking. "What?"

"I - nothing." She fixes her gaze pointedly on a spot on the cubicle wall. "I - no, they look…um, fine."

She withdraws her head from the booth quickly, feeling as if her face is on fire, and decides that, after all, she's pretty glad she came today.

* * *

After taking a few wrong turns, they find themselves in the hat department. She tries to drag him away, but after glancing a glimpse of Percy in a beret, she's laughing too hard to argue.

She tries on a bobble hat that makes her look like a garden gnome - but her personal favourite is the trilby hat Percy manages to find and pose in. She takes a photo of him between giggles, and while he's not looking sends it to Grover, Thalia and Nico, hoping he never finds out.

She says he looks way too much like Keira Knightley in the trilby for her to take him seriously. He buys it anyway.

* * *

Percy's mom and Paul are waiting to meet them outside the tailors when they arrive.

"What are you doing here?" Percy demands.

"It's not everyday a mom gets to see her son buy his first tux," says Ms Jackson meekly, hugging Annabeth and Percy in turn. "It's a special occaison!"

Percy pulls a face.

"I remember when I got my first tux," Paul says thoughtfully, his gaze drifting off into the distance. "April twenty-third, nineteen eighty-one…"He smiles. "Good times."

Ms Jackson rolls her eyes. "Come on. We haven't for a trip down memory lane, dear - let's get this tux fitted before midnight, shall we?

They're the only people in the tiny shop, and they set to work immediately with the tux - the tailor, Carlos, is charming and friendly; prone to bursting into song at any given opportunity, but Annabeth finds him endearing. She sits with Ms Jackson as Percy tries stuff - it's getting dark outside, and she's glad of the warmth of the cosy store. Percy's mom has a wicked sense of humour, and within minutes she's cracking jokes, teasing Percy and chatting to Annabeth as warmly as she would her own daughter. Percy catches her eye occasionally and she grins at him, giving him an excuse to grimace back.

He must try on twenty different suits, but Annabeth finds it impossible to get bored - she's having too much fun; talking to Paul about mythology as they stick pins in Percy ("Just because I can't feel pain doesn't mean I'm some kind of pin cushion, y'know," he complains), and debating the pros and cons of bowties and triple-buttoned jackets.

It's odd, but for the first time she gets this warm, sort of fuzzy feeling inside as she messes about jokes along with Percy's family. It's different from her own family - she loves her dad and all, but they'd never be able to have this much fun; her step-brothers would be wreaking havoc and her step-mom would be fussing over something silly and her dad would be trying to pacify her, to no avail - and it would all be so _complicated_. And it's not like camp, either, though she loves the place dearly - it's just at camp, there's competition and a harsh reality of pain and hard work to endure, day in, day out. No, this is different…But good different. She likes being with Percy's family, she decides. She wouldn't mind hanging out with them more often.

"Do you think this is it, then?"

"Ooh, let's see," says Ms Jackson, standing back to admire the handiwork. "Percy?"

The suit fits him well - he looks sheepish, but Annabeth smiles as his mom hugs him and goes to the till with Paul to pay. She approaches him slowly, looking him up and down. "Not bad," she says, running a hand down his lapel. "Not bad at all."

"Do I look James Bond enough?" He poses and she laughs.

"Of course you do, Seaweed Brain."

He smiles. "Thanks for coming with me today."

"Oh, that's okay. I had fun. Really."

"Me too," he says, and while his mom's not looking he kisses her, his hands sliding around her waist, and she forgets about the fact that his parents are stood right _there_ and that Carlos is nearby and the fact that she's exhausted after some serious, heavy-duty shopping. In fact, she thinks she's forgotten what her own _name _is until Ms Jackson clears her throat faintly from behind them and she pulls away, blushing and slightly out of breath.

"Shall we be off, then?" says Paul brightly. "Nothing else you need to get, is there?"

"Nah, we've got to go and eat," says Percy, casting a furtive look in her direction. "I promised Annabeth that because I woke her up before ten on a weekend I'd buy her dinner."

She looks at him reproachfully as Paul and Percy's mom laugh, bidding them goodbye and heading off in the direction of their car.

"You know," she says, quietly leaning in so only he can hear. "It wouldn't be the _worst _thing in the world if we did this again sometime."

He raises an eyebrow. "No?"

She shrugs. "Just a thought."

"Even if I do have to call you before ten in the morning?"

She whacks him playfully on the arm and he laughs, clear and bright.

"Come on, Wise Girl," he says, and he holds out his hand. "I still owe you, remember?"

And they head off, bags in hand, in the direction of the restaurants.

And about halfway through the meal, he checks his cell and frowns. She asks what the problem is, and he shows her the messages, wanting to know how on earth Thalia, Nico _and _Grover all managed to somehow get hold of a photograph of him in a rather fetching trilby hat. She shrugs innocently, and he rolls his eyes, but it doesn't matter. He's already sent them a picture of her in the bobble hat, anyway.


	24. Fatherhood

**It's been a while.**

**This is one of the darkest oneshots I've ever written, in many ways. It's grown-up!Percabeth, Percy-centric - and it's very angsty, very pscycological. Hard to believe, then, that the inspiration for it comes from a plate of Swedish meatballs. It's very different from anything else I've written.**

**A warning - there's references to self-harm and to heavy alcohol abuse in this chapter, with some bad language, too. There's light in every character, every person, every pairing - but there's also darkness, too. This is for you guys, for waiting. **

**_Song choice - '9 Crimes' by Damien Rice _**

* * *

Fatherhood

When Annabeth tells him she's pregnant, he freezes.

There's a split second after the words have escaped her lips, the product of which is a blank expression and the sensation that the floorboards have just dropped from beneath him.

And then he's grinning and wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight as she laughs with warmth in her very tone. When she pulls away her eyes are swimming with tears and he's telling her he couldn't be happier.

But inside – a strange, sinking feeling; a bitter taste on his tongue that he's sure wasn't there before.

* * *

The guilt kicks in around midnight after an evening spent calling everyone he knows to tell them the news. He's lying in bed shirtless and he's frozen. She sleeps soundly beside him.

Why does he feel so guilty?

He wants to wake her and say something, everything– _anything_ to let her know that something isn't right. _Something_. He doesn't know what. But something.

He sinks back against the pillows and bites his lip so hard he can feel his teeth break the skin; wishing that, for once, he could feel the pain.

The pain, he thinks, would drown out the guilt.

* * *

He dreams that night.

In his dream, he's got a beer gut and the murky remnants of stubble plaguing his chin. Eyesight blurred. Alcohol on his breath. The grease of his comb-over makes his skin crawl. The lingering stench of cigars and beer, body odor and sweat hangs in the air of the darkened room like a noose. He's drunk, that's for sure, and he's pissed.

A door opens somewhere to his left. He turns as a child slouches into the room. He doesn't recognize her – blonde hair, green eyes – but when she sees him, there's a flicker of recognition in her steely stare. She glares at him, her resentment cold and unyielding. He doesn't understand how someone so young can be harboring so much hate.

She starts towards him. And then she turns, pushing open another door and slamming it behind her skinny frame.

Another figure enters, and this face is painfully familiar.

She looks worn. She approaches him slowly, closing the door softly behind her. Wrinkles hang at her brow and cheeks, but she's still beautiful. _Annabeth_.

There's something he doesn't recognize in her gaze as she advances. Fear? Anguish? Reluctance? He's not too sure.

She says something.

He doesn't understand why, but a smirk plays on his lips. He strikes back with a nasty, bitter retort that tastes and sounds like venom as it bites through the air. She protests, her words blurred in his mind, and he doesn't understand why he feels so _angry_.

He raises his hand, and strikes her once across the face.

She falls.

* * *

He wakes, and the urge to retch is uncontrollable. He needs air, fresh air, and he heads to the balcony.

Because he knows what he's just seen and it scares him shitless.

As he slides the glass doors shut and turns to the darkened street, he's murmuring to himself: _I'm not him I'm not him I'm not him I'm not him I'm not him __**I'm not him**_

He rubs his eyes quickly with the palms of his hands, shaking off the drowsy façade.

He knows who he was in that dream. That's the thing that's scaring him the most.

Gabe.

_And Gabe's gone,_ he tells himself sternly. _He's gone, and he's not coming back. _That chapter of his life has passed. There is no way - no way on this _earth_ - that he'll turn out like Gabe. As if he could ever… ever even think of …

He shudders.

_Her blonde hair tumbling down to the floor– _

He swears under his breath. His hands clutch the balcony railing and he leans forward, his eyes surveying the stone floor, head level with the barrier.

_Is this what you're scared of? _His own thoughts startle him, an unwelcome interruption. _Is this what you're scared of becoming? You think having a kid will turn you into him?_

"Yes," he whispers. He's angry, and he's frustrated, and he's terrified. "Yes."

He can't bear the thought of his child – his and Annabeth's (_I'm so sorry, it was a dream, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry) _– thinking of him the same way he thinks of Gabe. But that's a risk; a risk he is going to have to take, when he goes through with this.

_If _he goes through with this.

He hears Annabeth call his name from indoors, and he flinches.

* * *

He dismisses these thoughts and shoves them to the back of his mind. He's not going to let them ruin this for him. He only faces them at night, when his conscience seems to sense the external silence and whir into life in his drowsy psyche.

He doesn't get much sleep.

Annabeth, it seems, has never been happier. She's glowing, and he envies her. _He'd _squeeze a kid out if he thought it would give him that kind of buzz. Sometimes he thinks he catches her watching him a little too closely and he freaks out, worrying that she's guessed the thoughts that are plaguing his twilight hours, but then he'll smile at her and make a crappy joke. She'll roll her eyes and tell him what a Seaweed Brain he is, but more importantly, she'll let it go.

He wishes he could do the same. _But it's only at night_, he reminds himself. _Just get yourself some pills or something. _

But after a week or so, the thoughts start to spill into the hours of daylight.

_You can't do this, _his conscience whispers to him as he pours himself some cereal. _You can't, and you know it. Stop denying it. _

He's at the store._ Think of how much you'll hurt the kid, _his mind seems to say. _Your inexperience. Your …background. Your history. You can't do what's best for a baby. _

He's on the phone to his mother. _You're not cut out for this._

"Percy?"

"Yeah, mom?"

"Nothing. You just went quiet for a moment. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." _Who are you kidding, Percy Jackson?_

And the final blow, as he's washing the dishes that same night: _You don't know what it means to be a father. _

His hand slips and the plate he's holding drops to the floor.

* * *

The worst part? He knows it's true.

He goes to Central Park in his lunch break and stands by the lake, watching families messing about on the opposite lawn.

He sees fathers lifting their daughters up onto their shoulders, and making the girls giggle relentlessly as they roll down the grassy slopes with their arms outstretched. He watches fathers spend forever teaching their sons how to swing the perfect home run, and then embracing them with pride when the bat finally makes contact with the oncoming ball. They patch up their children's knees when they scrape them running around fighting imaginary swordfights with friends. When something goes wrong, the children turn to their fathers, and suddenly the dad seems to know exactly what to do to save the day.

And he knows he can't do that. He has no idea_ how _to do that. He knows nothing, absolutely nothing, and it pains him to think that he can never, ever be able to make a child as happy as those on the lakeshore.

His head is spinning. This is too much, _way _too much to deal with.

* * *

The two father figures of his childhood. Gabe. And Poseidon. And he's resented both.

Gabe – he'd been so easy to hate. He'd loved to hate Gabe and everything about him. The temper, the smirk, the stench – his very posture, slumped over drunkenly at the poker table in a cloud of thick noxious smoke, as he snatched up worn playing cards with his thick, grubby little fingers.

And the bruises on his mother's arms, in rings that matched the shape of those fingers exactly.

And his real father; Poseidon, though back then he had had little idea as to who his father really was. Growing up, he had blamed everything on the mystery man from the oldest of memories. The way his mom's life had turned out – married to a jerk with a crap job and a retard for a kid; yeah, that was his dad's fault. The way _he _had turned out. The way life had a knack of throwing shit his way. Everything, _everything _had been his missing father's fault. It wasn't easy to hate a dead man (especially a dead man held in such high regard by his mother)– but he had managed, somehow.

And those are the two examples he has to demonstrate how to be a father.

The aching gets worse.

* * *

"Percy!"

He calls through from the other room. "Yeah?"

"You said you'd sorted through the laundry!"

"Uh, I did."

Annabeth appears in the doorway, clutching a large basket of clothes that were probably once white and now definitely pink. "I think you _might _have missed something," she says sardonically, withdrawing the offending red sock from the pile with raised eyebrows.

"Shit. Shit, I'm sorry."

"Oh, Percy, come _on_," she says, sounding tired. "You're going to have to do better than this. If you can't manage sort through the laundry, how are you going to do looking after a baby?"

There's nothing cruel in her tone, nothing vicious, but anger lights in the pit of his stomach anyway.

"We're going to be parents soon," she says, placing down the basket and sitting down opposite him on the footrest. "That means accepting a bit of responsibility, y'know?"

_Don't fucking patronize me, _he thinks bitterly. With that, he's even startled himself. He never swears. What's got _into _him? "Mmm."

"You okay?" she asks.

_Lie? Or tell the truth? Tell the truth. Tell the truth._

"Yeah. Just tired."

_Or lie. _

* * *

It's Annabeth's idea. Clarisse is in the city for a few days, and her kid's only a few months old. "Don't you see, Seaweed Brain? It'll be great for us to get some practice with a baby. Because, let's face it, we're kind of clueless when it comes to kids."

_You have no idea_, he thinks, while she dials Clarisse's number and invites her over for lunch.

It's going okay (well, he's staying out of the way making drinks) until Annabeth takes Clarisse down to the parking lot to show her the new car, and Percy's left alone with the baby.

"You be okay for a few minutes, Seaweed Brain?"

And he looks down at the baby – this tiny little person, blinking up at him with big eyes (unnaturally big eyes, he thinks, are they supposed to be that size?) – and he bottles it. The simple truth seems to stare bag from inside those baby blues; _you can't do this. _

When the two girls come back, the baby's crying and he's freaking out. He excuses himself and heads to the balcony once more.

The cold air is like a breaking reality to him. _You can't do this. You can't._

He takes a deep breath.

_So what are __you going to do? _

* * *

Two more weeks of this hell, and he just can't take it anymore.

The solution comes to him one evening when he's eating alone; Annabeth's up at Olympus to finalise some plans for a new construction, and he's got the day off work. And it hits him, right as he makes a stab at his pasta and takes a savage bite.

He could cut and run.

As soon as he so much as thinks it, he's filled with revulsion. He swallows, hard, the hot food blistering his throat and gets up abruptly from the table. He goes and stands by the window, his nose pressed to the cold window pane. His pasta lies uneaten.

He knows what it would look like, of course. The social cliché, right – the guy's gone as soon as the girl's bought the pregnancy test? He's heard it, so many times – hell, it's the story of his life. How many kids can he name who can relate to that? And she'd hate him for it. He can imagine the pain on her face even now. And his family – his mom would never forgive him. He'd be leaving everything behind. Everything he'd worked his ass off to build. He'd lose the best parts of his life, that's for sure.

But the baby… The baby would be better off without him.

_And that's what it comes down to_, he thinks, and he watches his reflection in the microwave door. _Being the best father means doing the best for your kid. Even if that means not being around._

Annabeth will make an amazing mom. He knows it. Because she's super organized and smart and forgiving and kind and everything a mom _should _be.

The baby would be so much _happier _without him, without that kind of influence in its life.

Or would it?

He tortures himself with these thoughts for an hour, maybe, perhaps two.

And after nearly four hours of agonizing thought, he snatches up his keys and his wallet, his cell and his jacket, and leaves.

He doesn't remember to leave a note.

* * *

He drives around in the torrential rain, the sound of the rainfall beating down on his car roof falling on deaf ears. He's got no direction, no plan and no hope.

He buys whiskey, five bottles, even though he's never drunk it before in his life, and piles it up in the trunk of his car.

This, he thinks to himself, must be what hell feels like.

* * *

The car breaks down on the freeway. He pulls in to the side of the road. Out of gas.

The rain thunders on.

"I want you to know." He's shouting against the noise of the torrent outside, shouting to the child he'll never know. "I want you to know… I did this for you. Because it's better this way. You know you're going to have the best mom in the world. You know that, right?" He's blinking back tears, because thinking of Annabeth hurts. It hurts more than ever before. "But I can't be… I can't be the dad you're going to need me to be. It's only fair on… on your mom and you. That I'm – that I'm gone. Y'know?"

He clenches his fist, the keys pressing to his palm.

"I'm sorry." His final shout is lost to the ensuing downpour and his voice breaks, the tears too much for him. He ditches the car, and the rain, cold against his skin, feels strangely welcome.

* * *

He checks into a cheap, seedy motel by the side of a railway (dirty wallpaper flaking at the walls, flickering electric light as a substitute for no windows, and a stained mattress with no pillows) and the first thing he does is drink.

He doesn't know _how _to drink the whiskey, so he downs a whole glass in one and the kick he gets as a result is the closest thing to physical pain he's had in ages. He does the same thing again.

And again.

He does it over and over until he can't hear himself think anymore, and he's free from the demons that have been clawing incessantly away at his insides. He sits with his back pressed to the foot of the bed. He throws the glass against the wall, hard. It shatters.

Gingerly, his vision blurry, he holds a piece of glass between his forefinger and thumb. He runs the edge slowly over his fingertips. He does it again and again, a sharp edge of glass to his calloused fingers – but there is no pain, no wound. The Styx's power holds, and he feels nothing.

The whiskey has made him angry and violent, and he kicks at the last remaining bottle, letting it spill out across the floor and soak the threadbare rug.

The phone rings. It's Annabeth.

He ignores it.

* * *

The thoughts go round and round his head until he just can't take it anymore.

"You're a fucking mess," he mutters angrily to himself. "Like you could ever – ever be a dad. What the… the Hades were you…were you fucking _thinking_…"

He hates the way the words, those bitter terrible words, taste.

He raises the back of his shirt with a free hand and takes up the shard of glass once more.

He finds the spot with his index finger, and runs a finger slowly over the surface. He shudders at the sensation. And then he takes the glass and poises it, centimeters above the shot. The sharpest vertex points towards the bare, unprotected skin. He takes a deep breath.

_What am I doing?_

The phone rings again, and the glass clatters to the floor as his fingers give way. He crumbles, sliding to the floorboards, whiskey and glass underfoot.

He lets the phone ring on and on, and after thirty rings, he breaks down.

* * *

He leaves the hotel early the next morning, because he can't bear to be in the same room much longer with the shame eating him up inside.

He does what he does best. He heads to the sea.

It's a windy, wild sort of day, and he's freezing cold as the gale greets him, head on. The docks are stirring, slowly, but it's lifeless to him. The headache's a bitch and he takes the dull ache like a sentence for his crimes.

The aftermath of the night before is flooding back to him, slowly. He remembers the car, stranded and rain-drenched on the freeway. The shattered glass he piled into the hotel room's trash can and the whiskey dripping through the cracks in the floorboards.

He remembers Annabeth.

He wishes drowning were an option.

_Where to from here?_

He thinks about it for a moment. He can't stay in New York. He can't head to Camp, either, because he's twenty-seven years old, for the gods' sake, and he'd look like the biggest douchebag alive. He's not going anywhere near Olympus, that's for sure. He can imagine Athena stood on the other side of the elevator doors with a knife, waiting to greet him.

His dad's? Maybe, maybe not. Somewhere remote, like that place he saw on the Discovery Channel that one time… He could get in a boat and _sail _somewhere, he thinks, and he wonders how long it would take him to sail across the Atlantic and reach England or someplace –

"Sup, Jackson."

He blinks, and then he feels something whack him hard on the head.

The pain doesn't come (as usual), so when he turns to look at his attacker his face is one of confusion and disgruntlement.

Clarisse La Rue's stood behind him, and she surveys him dully.

"Shit. Forgot that doesn't work on you anymore." Her arms are folded across her chest, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Her expression is steely and she looks kind of pissed.

He's guessing this isn't a good sign.

He turns away from her and resumes his careful observation of the murky waters. The wind's still in his eyes.

She takes a step forward and joins him, sitting on the railing overlooking the dock. They sit in silence for a moment or three, the wind whistling petulantly around them.

He finds himself waiting for her to bring a shitload down on him.

She sighs, her breath ragged against the force of the windstorm. The gentle lapping of the water against the hull of the boats is drowned out. Her fingers toy with her wedding ring slowly, and he finds watching it oddly soothing.

"You want to know something funny, Jackson?" She sounds oddly resigned. "I didn't even come here to give you hell."

He wants her words to make him feel better, but they don't. There's a bitter taste of sea-salt on his tongue.

It hurts a bit to fight out his reply: "Who told you to come looking for me?"

Clarisse gives a coarse, biting laugh. "What d'you take me for, Jackson? I don't run other people's errands. You can't tell me to do _squat_." She sounds a little too proud for a moment, but the cockiness is gone as she continues: "Plus she'd run me through if she knew I was here."

He doesn't like how she guessed who he'd had in mind. He's still not looking at her. "How is she?" he mumbles.

He feels her shoulder's shrug beside him. "A mess." There's no apology in her tone. "Okay. A _complete _fucking mess."

The dull aching in his stomach becomes a sharp stabbing sensation at a moment's notice.

He's readying some lame excuse for an apology when she speaks again.

"She's got herself all wound up about this parenting shit," she says.

And the apology suddenly jumps out the window and he's hanging on her every word.

"How –" He starts again, careful to keep his voice level, nonchalant. "How d'you mean?"

She pauses for thought, her face creased with concern. She's actually not bad looking, he thinks, when she's not smirking nastily at him or threatening to put his various limbs into body bags. Her eyes meet his, which he finds disconcerting.

"It's like the dark side of managing to keep your head still attached to your shoulders long enough to survive to adulthood. It's a half-blood cliché." She grimaces. "The usual freak-out. Depressive, occasionally suicidal, depending on the demigod. Shit-scared how the kid'll turn out. Shit scared if you even know what you're doing, because the gods know your own parents haven't been the best example in life. Usually hysterical, generally messy. Most demigods don't live into their twenties, thirties, so they don't give you a heads up when the baby-freak-out heads your way."

_Usually _hysterical._ Generally _messy.

"Wait - this is _normal_?" Nonchalance is out the window – he's shocked, and it's obvious in his tone. "Like – you've been through this?"

"Hell yeah. _Not_ that it's any of your business." She glares at him for a moment, and he almost wants to smile, though god knows _why_. "Hit the road for a couple of days, got into a few fights in Harlem, put a few assholes in the emergency room. Crawled back to the apartment to find Chris drunk out of his mind on wine coolers with some girl who looked like she'd been hit by a speeding truck." She snorted. "Annabeth's been less… dramatic. She sort of started tearing up all her stupid drawing folder."

"Her portfolio?" He knows from past experience that Annabeth Chase treasures her architecture portfolio over her own life – so much as looking at it is tantamount to a death sentence. "But that's like her Holy Grail."

She shoots him a look of disgust. "Damn, Jackson. And they say children of Ares are supposed to be dumb. She's not thinking straight, idiot! And you'd better go fix that before she does something even stupider."

He wonders when he became the go-fix-it guy (_right after you saved Olympus, _his brain murmurs helpfully. _Thanks_, he grumbles). "I'm not…" He wants to say that he's in no place to be helping anyone at this moment in time; he's the guy who ditched his car in torrential rain to replace the future he would have had with a beautiful wife and child with whiskey and sleazy motels. He's the least qualified to be giving life advice at this precise moment in time – especially to Annabeth.

"What, you're not going to be there for your mother of your child? Who are you, Eddie Murphy?"

"It's not like that, okay?" he says angrily, his fists clenched. "It's not that way. I'm just – it's not –"

"What way is it, then?"

He needs to tell her that he can't do this, that there's no way in Hades he's going to be able to walk back into that apartment after what he's done.

But one glimpse of the look Clarisse is giving him tells him he's got little choice.

"Fine," he says, and he says it again, a little louder, in case she didn't hear. "I'll go, okay? On one condition."

"What's the condition?"

He scowls. "Could you… uh, give me a lift?"

* * *

She kicks him out outside his building, growling a menacing _get your ass in the apartment and fix this thing _in his ear, and speeds off down the street.

He doesn't remember the apartment being up this many stairs and he reckons the long, exhausting ascent is probably a metaphor for something, but he doesn't know what (and to be honest, he only knows what a metaphor is because Paul used to have magnets stuck on the refrigerator about wordplay).

He thinks about knocking, and then remembers he _lives _there and if he's going to get killed by Annabeth it's probably best she doesn't do it out in the hall where children might see, and opens the door.

She's in the kitchen.

* * *

She doesn't _look_ like she's bordering on manic-depressive.

She's cooking and humming along to a song on the radio that he doesn't know. He takes a cautious step forwards, and he's suddenly very self-conscious, very aware of the fact that he stinks of alcohol and there are bits of broken glass pressed to his clothes and he's unshaven and damp and looks like the kind of people Nico di Angelo would hang out with in his spare time.

He's not sure whether he should say anything, but shame answers his question for him, rendering him mute. Instead, he stands awkwardly by the door.

She looks up and she smiles. "Hey," she says, and it's bright and cheery and not at all expected. "I made meatballs, you want some?"

Shame is replaced with shock, but apparently shock doesn't want him to speak, either.

The reason for his shock is two-fold.

The first; she's not even yelling at him. She doesn't even seem a _little _bit angry. Because he can always tell when she _is _mad, because she goes really quiet and subdued and won't look at him, like the calm before the storm. She never smiles when she's mad. And she's smiling now.

The second is that she's cooking, and Annabeth never cooks. Except for an annual blue cupcake, which is a disaster each and every year she tries. They established years ago that where meals are concerned, Percy will cook, and they'll stock up their freezer with enough microwave meals to keep Annabeth nourished on the rare occasion that he's not going to be there for dinner, because they don't want to get evicted from another apartment for setting fire to the furniture.

She seems to take his silence as a refusal. "Alright," she says, and she turns back to the stove, moving slightly to the song still warbling on from the radio on top of a box of Oreos. "More for me."

"You're cooking."

He's found words, which is good, but they're not the ones he should be saying, which is bad.

She glances at him over her shoulder. "And what's wrong with that, exactly, Seaweed Brain?" she demands.

"It's just… I like our apartment and I haven't got two hundred dollars to tip the super when we melt down the chairs again."

"Oh, ha-ha." She turns and serves a huge dollop of pasta onto the two plates in front of her, followed by a dozen or so meatballs. "See? It looks food-like. And that's good enough for me." She draws up a chair and sits down at the breakfast bar, eating a big mouthful of meatballs in one hungry gulp.

He watches her – this beautiful creature from a whole other planet (probably a planet where cooking isn't a necessary life skill) eating this whole load of food (that actually smells pretty good) for the tiny little person growing inside her that's _his_ and who he's going to get to meet in about eight months in a nice apartment in a good part of the city with a park nearby and great friends and supportive parents and a life that he's craved for his twenty-seven years of existence, and suddenly he can't remember why he smells so strongly of whiskey.

She gestures to the meal in front of her. "You want in?"

He blinks, and there's something about her than tells him that she knows exactly where he's been and what he's been doing, and another thing glistening in those grey eyes he's lost himself in too many times, that says she doesn't even care. The only thing she _does _care about is the fact that he's here _now_.

And he gets the feeling, despite the fact her fork is gesturing at a giant plate of meatballs, she's not really asking whether or not he wants some pasta (he's pretty sure it's a metaphor again).

There's a tight feeling in his throat.

"I'm scared."

Saying it aloud is easier than he'd thought.

It's a confession he'd only ever admit to Annabeth, and she knows it, too. She doesn't lower her fork – she keeps eating, taking a sip of her juice before she swallows. "I know," she says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. She devours another meatball. "Me too."

He looks at her steadily. "Yeah?"

"I think we're allowed to be," she says gently. "Now come on, the meatballs are getting cold and if I eat them all there won't be enough room for the baby in here." She looks down at her stomach, which is already looking kind of swollen, and he gets this weird urge to press his palm to it and see what happened.

He moves towards the table, sliding into a seat. He spies Annabeth's portfolio, propped up against the wall in the corridor, in exactly the same place and exactly the same condition as it was the night before, but when he looks at her questioningly, she merely shrugs and steals a meatball from his plate.

He's not too sure what just happened, but he's acutely aware of the strange, tense feeling in his stomach being slowly replaced with both meatballs and another, much stranger sensation; excitement - real, genuine excitement.

He smiles into his pasta, and he thinks she notices.

* * *

He's sat up in bed at about midnight, cautiously flicking through one of the pregnancy books he found in the bathroom, when she sits down beside him, her reading glasses lost in a tangle of blonde curls somewhere on top of her head.

"You want to know something, Seaweed Brain?"

He turns to look at her.

"I wouldn't be having this baby with you if I didn't think you weren't going to be an amazing dad." He knows she's serious now, because there's this intense, passionate sincerity in her eyes that warms his heart. He closes the pregnancy book, pushing it gently aside. "And I do, y'know. I'm almost jealous of the kid."

"Yeah, right."

"Are you kidding? This baby is going to love you so much I'm going to have to bribe it with ice-cream just to get it to like me more." He smiles a little at that. "C'mon – what kid wouldn't want Percy Jackson, hero of Olympus, as their dad?"

"You really think so?"

"I _know _so. And you know me, I'm always right." She grins.

He grins back. "You're going to make a wonderful mom."

"Thanks, Seaweed Brain." She kisses him softly and his hand slides almost subconsciously to her stomach, his palm resting flat against her navel. Annabeth lies back against the pillows. _Somewhere in there, _he thinks, _is a little tiny person_, and that blows him away more than just about anything.

"And Percy?"

"Yeah?"

She sits up slowly and moves closer to him – he can feel her gentle breath on his bottom lip – and whispers, "I really, really want some ice cream."

He sighs. "That's going to be my job for the next eight months, isn't it?"

"My own little ice-cream man." She laughs, a little sleepily. "Maybe we'll get you a van."

He rolls his eyes and heads off to the freezer, but when he comes back she's fast asleep, curled up amongst the quilts with her hand where his was moments before. He stands for a minute or three in the doorway, watching her gentle breathing, and he doesn't need any metaphors or dreams or tiny voices in his head to tell him that this – right here, in their tiny New York apartment - is the only place in the world that he'd ever want to be.


End file.
